


Somebody to Love

by Masterofceremonies



Series: Batjokes Fics! [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Canon-Typical Violence, Drugs, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-17 06:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5857138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofceremonies/pseuds/Masterofceremonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne runs into another student. Literally. Of course, it doesn't end there...</p><p>BATJOKES HIGHSCHOOL AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a- HEY! WATCH IT!

Bruce was pissed. Which was relatively normal, seeing as he had been diagnosed with a myriad of anger issues alongside of depression after witnessing his parent’s death, but today he was in one of his special moods that usually ended with him putting a hole in the wall, or breaking some priceless bauble that Alfred would have to clean with a deep sigh.

It started as a stupid argument about school, but escalated until he was screaming at Alfred who met his rage with the usual calm logic that only wound Bruce up more. Because of this, he had been late getting out of the house, and as wound up as he was, his impulse to drive fast took over. He wasted the entire first period going 120 on some back road, trying to resist the urge to put his fist through the windshield.

It didn’t really matter if he missed his first class, he had study hall, but second period was history, and his teacher was the type to assign detentions for sneezing too loudly, so showing up late would have serious consequences. Not to mention the fact that getting in trouble at school was exactly the topic of the argument that had landed him in this mess, and he didn’t want to prompt another round of yelling

So he drove to the school before he had fully calmed down, breaking more traffic laws on his way, radio blaring some angsty hard rock song that Bruce normally hated. Screeching into the parking lot, he pulled into the first empty spot he saw, before yanking his bag out of the passenger seat and bolting inside.

Despite driving like a maniac, he was still late. The halls were empty and he had no excuse for being tardy, so instead of running to class, his pace slowed as he tried to think up a good excuse. Rounding a corner blindly, he slammed into another student, knocking them onto the floor.

“Fuck, man watch where you’re fucking going!” The student yelled, voice breaking the eerie silence of the deserted halls. Bruce looked down, stunned by the sudden barrage of swears. His surprised expression was met by disgruntled anger personified and dressed in cheap secondhand jeans and a purple sweatshirt. What threw him off further was the boy’s hair, which was a vibrant, almost aggressive, shade of green.

“Sorry.” Bruce finally managed, extending a hand to the boy, who merely glared at it, then pushed himself up alone, doing everything but shoving it away. Bruce retracted his hand quickly, cramming it in his pocket as he tried to give an apologetic smile. There was an awkward pause, which was broken when Bruce realized where he recognized the boy from. “We have study hall together.”

“Yeah. And History, and English, and Chemistry, and Theater…. The only classes we don’t share are Math and Spanish.”

“I’m taking French.” Bruce frowned.

“And I suck at Math so you must be in a higher level.” He snorted. “Late for class? Guess you’re not the perfect playboy they say you are. And you skipped study hall.” He tsked. “Won’t get into Harvard with that attitude.”

“You’re late too.” Bruce bit back.

“Yes but I’m a delinquent. And I have a pass.” He waved the small yellow slip of paper in his hand. Bruce was unsure if he should frown or smile. “What were you doing? Getting some tail before school in your lambo?” This kid was rude, but it was his manic smile that unnerved Bruce greatly.

“No. I was… driving around.” The expression on Bruce’s face made the other student’s smile fade.

“Needed to cool off?” He mumbled. Bruce hesitated, but figured he had told the truth this far, so why lie now? He nodded silently, which seemed to be an adequate answer. “I was talking to my counselor. You’re not the only one who had a rough morning.”

Bruce took another look at the shorter boy and realized he looked haggard. Shadows under his eyes that would make Marilyn Manson jealous, bloodshot eyes to rival Snoop Dogg, and hair that looked like what would happen if Russell Crowe stuck a fork in an electric socket. Even his outfit looked like it had been slept in.

“Well at least you got a pass.” Bruce sighed. The boy paused, the dropped his messenger bag on the floor and rooted around in it. Producing a pen, he took the pass and smoothed it out against the wall. Bruce noticed the name “Jack” written across the top and noted that for later use. The boy, Jack, then very slowly wrote out “/Bruce” next to his own name and grinned, showing the other boy and bowing with a flourish.

“Wow. Artful forgery.” Bruce noted.

“Takes me a while but I can make it look pretty similar. My normal handwriting is, ah… less artful.” Jack smirked.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked, and Jack paused.

“Dunno. I mean you’re a rich asshole who knocked me down and didn’t know my name until you read it over my shoulder,” Bruce opened his mouth to protest but Jack didn’t give him the chance to reply “and you kind of piss me off in every way imaginable, but… I like your face. And you offered to help me up.” He shrugged. “So shut up and c’mon.”

Bruce’s mouth hung open for a long moment, but when Jack headed upstairs, he followed complacently. The boy walked with his shoulders tense and his head down, but he shot a look back at Bruce every minute or so. They made it to history, where the teacher glared at them both, lecture perched on his tongue, until Jack calmly handed over the pass. He nodded jerkily and they took their seats, Bruce sitting down the row from Jack who immediately slumped in his chair and looked thoroughly bored.

They were continuing their lesson about the civil war and the teacher seemed intent on calling on Jack for every hard question. The boy was obviously annoyed, but didn’t show it, and answered every question correctly and thouroughly. Of course, his voice remained monotone, and his words came out in a jumbled rush, but Bruce was impressed by his apparent knowledge. He didn’t think that someone who looked like they spent their free time spray painting graffiti on buildings could be so smart.

Finally the lesson was over and Jack stood, cramming his laptop into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder with a sour expression on his face. Bruce caught up to him in the hall and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey.” He said, and Jack froze. Stopped dead in the middle of the hall, hands clenched into fists before he slowly turned around and brushed Bruce’s hand off of him, trying to appear like he hadn’t just acted like he had been shot.

“What?” Jack half snapped, adjusting the strap of his bag so it covered the shoulder Bruce had touched.

“Uh… you’ve got... Spanish, yeah? I’ve got French. Right next door. Wanna walk together?” He finally blurted as Jack gave him a look like he was crazy.

“You don’t have to try and pay me back for the pass thing. Kay? Your friendship isn’t the glowing gift you think it is, and your pity is much, much worse.” He mumbled and turned, heading down the hall. Bruce kept pace with him and shrugged.

“Yeah I know, but… I want to.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but said nothing, and they walked in silence until they reached their classes. The smaller boy paused out in front of his and gave Bruce a scrutinizing look before ducking inside his classroom. Bruce stood outside the door for a long moment before heading into French.

The only reason he took the class was because he was already semi-fluent in French, so if he didn’t talk, he could keep his head down and breeze through with an A. He spent the entire class thinking about the look Jack had given him, and the way his voice was raspy but not low, and the small cut below his lip, and how the un-dyed roots of his hair somehow faded artfully into the green. He found himself running a hand through his own black locks and wondering if the boy’s hair was as soft as it looked.

The teacher noticed him phasing out and asked him a question in French. He answered correctly, but misplaced a word on purpose so the teacher would explain his mistake to the class and leave him to his thoughts.

He knew he had Theater next, and he knew they’d be getting in groups, so he made a plan to walk with Jack and ask him to work with him. If he said yes, he might try to coax some more conversation from the boy, and if that went well, Bruce could offer to drive him home, and maybe he’d be invited in. He’d be able to see where Jack lived and they could talk more too. Or maybe he’d invite Jack over to his house instead. Alfred was always able to break the ice and put people at ease like Bruce never could.

And when Jack relaxed a little maybe Bruce could give him a tour of the house and grounds. He hadn’t been in the garden for ages… maybe they’d go exploring like Bruce used to when he was little, and there was the fountain by the old rose bushes, or that old gazebo where they could sit and talk…

God he was acting like an idiot. Bruce frowned to himself and bit back a deep sigh. Something about the younger boy intrigued him, and his mind was rushing ahead to things that he knew couldn’t happen. He had been drawn to other boys before, but they had been easily squashed. This… interest, however, was different.

When he first realized he was having feelings for the same sex, he had been panicked and confused. He had always liked women, and he was terrified to ask someone for advice. His therapist was already diagnosing him with every disorder in the book, and he didn’t want to be slapped with another label, so he kept it to himself. Eventually, in 7th grade, he had figured out that he wasn’t a freak, just bisexual.

Despite his new grasp on his feelings, he didn’t think that it would go over well with anyone if he told, so he kept it to himself, and even dated a few girls for a while before he lost interest. So even if, by some miracle, the green haired boy wasn’t straight, and even if, by another miracle, he was attracted to Bruce, there was no way they could do anything resembling dating without either Jack’s parents, or Alfred, or the school finding out.

And that was something Bruce didn’t want think about.

When French was over he rushed to the door, catching Jack coming out with a smile. The boy shot him another look, but a less hostile one. More wary. Curious. They walked to Theater together, Bruce managing to pry a few details out of him, such as the fact that he liked to act and draw, and he thought math was a waste of time. Strolling into the blackbox, Bruce gathered his nerve and asked to see something he had drawn.

Immediately, Jack’s attitude became hostile. “Why do you care?” He snapped, plunking down in a seat and crossing his arms like a petulant child.

“I’m curious.” Bruce murmured, sitting down next to Jack who rolled his eyes and leaned away from him.

“Yeah well unless you wanna see dead bodies, or naked bodies, or both, you don’t wanna see my drawings.” Jack grunted.

Unfortunately for Bruce, before he could think of a response, the teacher came in and started class. They broke off into groups, Jack bolting away before Bruce could ask him to work together. He attached himself onto several jocks and cheerleaders who were happy to have him in their group as long as he did all the work.

Bruce landed in a similar group, and found himself saddled with all of the duties simply because no one else cared about their grade, nor did they possess the intelligence to actually do anything. The activity was to design a set for a short play they had read in class, and Bruce quickly sketched out a normal theater with a railroad track running from left to right, and the painted backdrop of a house in the background. Jack sat cross-legged in a corner, drawing on a large sheet of paper, while his group sat as far away from him as possible.

When it came time to present, most groups did exactly like Bruce had. Normal stage, painted backdrop, railroad track across it. Then it was Jack’s turn to present. His group stood around him as he taped the drawing he had done on the board. It was a bird’s eye view of an arena style theater with a circular railroad track around the edge.

“So… I designed it like this so when the girl is walking on the track she makes her way around the edge of the stage so the audience can see all of her.” Jack pointed, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. “The billboard described in the script is actually behind the audience in the corner of the theater, same with the house and water tower. On stage there’s a withered tree and telephone pole blocking the aisles, but no one’s view, and the telephone wires stretch over the audience with fake crows perched on them.” His voice wasn’t soft, but he was obviously not trying to make himself heard. Unfortunately for him, he had the kind of voice that carried, even in a whisper.

“At the start of the play there’s a curtain around the stage, circular, with projected images of train stations and jazz clubs in different parts of it. And, uh… there’s music playing. The song the girl sang, that one.” He gnawed on his lip for a moment, eyes flicking up and landing on Bruce before quickly darting away. “That’s it.” Jack added as the silence dragged on. “The end. El Fin. Etcetera.”

He was given a few claps and a hearty pat on the back from the theater teacher who said he had never seen the play done in such a creative manner, which actually made him smile. Of course, his smile made him look like he was mentally unhinged, but Bruce liked it. It made his eyes sparkle.


	2. Injustice League, Assemble!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All your favorite Arkham characters, but in highschool instead of an asylum! So not much difference...

As he was dwelling on the other boy’s smile, the bell rang, signaling that it was time for lunch. Bruce wanted to catch Jack in the lunchroom, tell him what an amazing job he had done, but when he arrived and looked around, he realized Jack wasn’t there. He doubled back to the theater, thinking that maybe he had stayed back to talk with the teacher.

Bruce went in one of the side doors that led backstage because it was quicker, but as he approached, the unexpected sound of music playing and people talking reached him. He paused, hidden by the black velvet curtain that sectioned off the main stage from the wings. Then, the song changed and a familiar voice burst out into song.

“HELP! I need someboooody HELP! Not just anybooody.” The tone was almost mocking, but the singer was rather good. Bruce edged forward, peering from behind the curtain at the motley crew that had assembled on stage. Jack was there, in the middle, standing with his arms spread wide open and his purple hoodie cast aside, a similarly colored purple tshirt exposing his arms as he sang.

To his right, lounging in a chair was a redheaded girl who was eating an apple and somehow managing to keep her perfectly applied red lipstick from smudging. Sitting at her feet and leaning against her legs was a girl with bright blonde hair who was snacking away at a chocolate bar, with two more on the floor next to a can of diet coke. She offered a piece to the redhead who took it using her mouth as she toyed with the blonde girl’s pigtails. Their behavior was casual and practiced, like it happened every day.

Leaning against a wall with half of a sandwich in one hand and a book propped on his knees was a pale, almost sickly looking boy, with thick glasses and neat but curly red hair. He was wearing a crisp white button down and a bright green bowtie, paying no attention to anything around him.

Across the room, in abject and almost comedic contrast to him, was a boy who looked like he could rip apart a school bus with his bare hands. He was sitting at a table with three school lunches in front of him, along with a brown bag that was bulging with food.

Jack fell to his knees as the song progressed, his pose a mocking cry for help, just as another person stepped into Bruce’s line of sight. The first thing Bruce noticed was his eyes. It seemed that most new people he saw today had brilliant eyes, but his were particularly shocking. Bright blue, framed with thin rectangular glasses, they suited his pale, drawn face and cheekbones to a T. His outfit was as plain as his eyes were brilliant, but his red button down was neat, and his jeans resembled dress pants more than scuffed work clothes.

He stepped behind Jack and laid a hand on his shoulder. Bruce waited for the inevitable tensing of Jack’s muscles coupled with a brush off. Instead, Jack reached back and grabbed his hand, standing and turning to face him with a wide grin on his face.

“Scarecrow! Won’t you help me?” His voice took on an exaggerated southern accent and the other boy, dubbed Scarecrow, grinned. Bruce spared a moment to stupidly wonder why his parents would name him “Scarecrow” before coming to the realization that it had to be a nickname.

“No dice, Joker. I don’t help, I hurt.” His voice was clinical, and pleasant in a way that made Bruce’s skin crawl. Scarecrow dropped Jack’s hand, who stuck out his tongue while laughing.

“Ok then, who’ll help me?” Jack spun around and pointed at the muscular student who was working his way through his second lunch. “Bane? Gonna help me?” Bane shook his head, grunted, and took another huge bite of his food. “Ever the loquacious type, aren’t you? How about you lovely ladies? Ivy? Harley?” He pointed to the redhead and the blonde in turn.

“Sorry mistah J, but I’m not the helping type.” Harley giggled, her voice high pitched and with a Jersey accent. Bruce immediately found her annoying with no idea why he felt that way.

“If she’s out, I’m out.” Ivy drawled.

“Boo you, whore.” Jack retorted. Ivy responded by flipping him off, so he turned to the boy reading in the corner. “Nygma?”

“Why’d you call everyone else by their codenames and I get my last one?” The boy grumbled, apparently not as oblivious as he looked.

“Fine then. _The Riddler_ would you help me?” The green haired boy rolled his eyes.

“No.” Riddler took a bite of his sandwich. “And it’s just Riddler.” He added in with his mouth full.

“Yeah, _The Joker_. Don’t be a dick.” Scarecrow laughed.

“Well shit. Guess I’m fucked.” Jack sighed dramatically and collapsed so suddenly that Bruce almost thought he had actually fainted until he sighed once more.

“I’ll help you.” A smooth voice called, causing Jack’s head to shoot up.

“Ah well, if it isn’t Gotham High’s white knight. Finally lowering yourself to our level?” He smirked and a blonde boy came into view, grabbing a chair and sitting next to Ivy, across from Jack.

“Tease all you want, Joker, but I’ve earned a place in this Breakfast Club from hell.” Bruce recognized him as the senior class president, Harvey Dent.

“We don’t even eat breakfast.” Harley grumbled. “That’s a stupid name.” She was ignored.

“You may have fooled the others into liking you, but there’s a reason your name’s Two-Face.” Jack exaggeratedly hissed as he sat up and made a face. Harvey pulled out a coke and opened it, rolling his eyes good naturedly as he took a sip.

“Yeah and that reason has green hair and a bad sense of humor.” Harvey shot back and Jack made another face while mimicking his voice obnoxiously.

“There’s a man behind the curtain.” Riddler spoke up and Bruce froze.

“Was that a shitty Wicked reference?” Scarecrow, who had sat next to him and was eating his own lunch, frowned. “Because I’m sick of Joker screaming “FIERO” at me when I ignore him.”

“Not a reference.” Riddler finished his sandwich and pointed to Bruce’s hiding spot. “There’s a corporeal man behind that curtain.” Before Bruce could even think of making a run for it, he felt a hand grab the back of his t-shirt and haul him out into the open. His eyes widened in panic as they traveled down the arm before resting on the body the hand was attached to. It was Bane, and he looked pissed.

“Sorry, I just-” He began, but Scarecrow cut him off.

“You look afraid.” He said evenly, a spark of interest in his eyes. “Would you mind telling me why?”

“It’s cause a huge guy has him by his shirt, dipwad.” Harley chirped. “Now quit yakin and let pretty boy here explain to us why he decided to be a peepin tom.”

“I just was looking for Jack and I didn’t want to barge in when you were talking.” Bruce blurted and all eyes swiveled to Jack who looked pissed.

“Oh for fucks sake.” He grumbled, giving Bruce a look that made his cheeks flush with shame.

“You know him?” Scarecrow asked icily, the look on his face even worse than the one on Jack’s.

“He’s in almost all my classes.” Jack muttered, grabbing his sweatshirt off the floor and tugging it back on.

“Is he bothering you?” Harvey asked, staring directly at Bruce.

“He is now.” Jack replied shortly.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to say that you did a good job on your theater project… could you let go of me?” Bruce added, looking up at Bane pleadingly. Bane looked at Ivy who waved her hand, and the large student dropped Bruce’s shirt.

“Joker’s got a booooy frieeeeend.” Harley sang, giggling.

“Shut UP Harley.” Jack snapped, taking a step towards her. Ivy stood and glared at him.

“Don’t.” She snapped, as Harley stuck out her tongue, safely behind her. Jack actually snarled like an animal, hands clenching and unclenching for a tense moment before he backed off, heading into a corner where he flopped down and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Sorry about them.” Harvey said evenly as Bruce tried to process what had just happened. “Bit too much drama in this group. But we’re theater kids, what do you expect?”

“We?” Jack scoffed from the corner, just loud enough to be heard. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Right…” Bruce murmured, eyes still wide as Riddler and Scarecrow started up a soft conversation and Bane returned calmly to his last tray of food. Ivy had sat back down and resumed playing with Harley’s pigtail while she sipped at some blended green smoothie. Harley was humming happily as she doodled with a sharpie on the redhead’s calf. “I can… I should go now…” Bruce muttered and took a step towards the door.

“No, please. Stay. Grab a seat. Any friend of Jack’s is a friend of ours.” Harvey smiled. Bruce hesitated, glancing at the door.

“Not my friend.” Jack called, which caused Bruce to wince and cast pleading eyes at the back of his head.

“Don’t worry. He does that for everyone. If he hasn’t called you a worthless sack of shit, he likes you.” Harvey told Bruce who grabbed a chair and sat down next to the blonde teen.

“Hey Harvey, you’re a worthless sack of shit.” Jack called again, glancing over, now with his legs sprawled out instead of tucked up near him.

“Love you too, clown.” Harvey winked at Jack. “Now come over here and play nice with the other kiddies.”

“Fuck off.” He growled.

“I’ve got Redbull.” Harvey pulled out a can and Jack made a screeching noise that resembled the AOL dialup sound before stomping over and sitting on the floor near Bruce, who was the only one that had reacted to his demonic outburst. Harvey handed Jack the Redbull and he popped the top, chugging a solid amount which seemed to relax him enough to sip at it slowly. He remained relatively silent for the rest of lunch, while Harvey kept up a light conversation with Bruce.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the nicknames?” Bruce finally asked. Jack, who had finished the Redbull, let out a snort, now laying facedown on the floor with his hood up.

“Oh well, that’s kind of how we all came together. See, back when we were sophomores, Jack and Harley were freshmen, and they ate lunch in here to avoid the crowds.

“We were datin.” Harley piped up.

“Worst mistake of my highschool career.” Jack muttered and Harley stuck her tongue out, despite the fact that he was unable to see her.

“So they broke up, obviously, but decided to keep coming here.”

“Second worst mistake of my highschool career.” Harvey rolled his eyes and kicked Jack playfully.

“Hush, would you? I’m telling a story.” He chastened before turning back to Bruce. “When Harley and Ivy started dating, she brought her here to avoid judgement. Then Jack and Jonathan, AKA Scarecrow, had a fling.” Harvey pointed to the teen with the bright blue eyes who was speaking with the Riddler.

“And he started coming here too. Bane saved Ivy from bullies one day so he earned an invite, and Riddler, who’s really Edward, or Nygma if you want, wandered in because people kept taking his books. He’s mainly allowed because he gives Harley chocolate and carries a spare inhaler for Bane.” Bruce glanced at the absolute monster of a student and tried to comprehend him needing an inhaler.

“I came here because I wanted to ask Ivy out, but she obviously turned me down. Her type may be blondes, but I lack the curves needed to catch her eye. He chuckled. “I was generously allowed to stay.”

Bruce nodded, trying to remember everything Harvey was saying for later use. “So… the nicknames?”

“Oh right. Sorry, I got a little sidetracked there.” The boy grinned.

“Harvey never shuts up. You’ll learn that fast, if you haven’t already.” Jack interjected from the floor, but Harvey ignored him.

“Anyway, Jack called Harleen “Harley” because her last name is Quinzel, so he liked to call her his Harlequin doll. “Harley Quinn” and harlequin being practically the same. She called him Mr. J cause she wanted to give him a nickname and calling him “puddin” led to fights, but that turned into the Joker because of his laugh which sounds like a hyena on crack.”

Jack flipped him off without rolling over and Bruce had to choke back a snort.

“Ivy got called Poison Ivy by Jack who didn’t really like her when she first started coming here. Her name is Pamela Isley, so it works. Bane is just… Bane. Don’t know his real name.” Bane grunted, looking up long enough to give Bruce a look that plainly said “don’t ask.”

“Nygma asks riddles all the time, so we used all of our collective brain power to come up with Riddler-”

“Harley came up with it the day she smoked weed with Ivy before school. Thought it was hilarious. And it stuck. Lucky me.” Riddler interjected dryly, and Bruce stared at the two girls, trying to picture them high. Harley wasn’t a shock but Pamela didn’t seem the type to do drugs… His train of thought was interrupted by Harvey, who continued to speak.

“Scarecrow… well he’s a bit obsessed with phobias. Don’t be around him at sleepovers or Halloween. You’ll piss yourself guaranteed.”

“Which was how I earned the nickname, actually. I dressed as a scarecrow for Halloween one year and ended up making some poor pre-teen cry.” Scarecrow’s eyes flashed and Bruce’s skin crawled once again, the boy’s soothing voice suddenly much creepier than before.

“What about you, Two-Face?” Bruce asked and Harvey laughed.

“Right. Well, ah… Jack started calling me that when I first came here. He likes the way I act around my friends,” he gestured to the others, “but thinks I put on a façade in public. So he calls me Two-Face. It’s affectionate.”

“No it’s not.” Jack mumbled, but rolled onto his back. “It’s an insult. Like “two faced bitch” or “backstabbing piece of shit”. Both of which you are.”

Harvey didn’t seem troubled by this, but Bruce still had a million questions. Before he could ask, the bell rang and the others began to grab their things. After clearing all traces they had been there, they went their separate ways, with no goodbyes shared between them, the silence only proving that they didn’t need niceties to stick together.


	3. Paint the Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress is finally made, alongside confessions.

Jack tried to make it out quickly but Bruce determinedly tailed him to English and sat down next to him despite his sour mood and the blatant “don’t come near me” signals he was giving off.

“I’m sorry I spied on you.” He said in a low voice, which broke Jack’s silence a little too easily.

“Why do you keep bothering me?” He hissed. “Can’t you just go fuck that cheerleader you’re going out with and leave me be?”

“Cheer…. Selina?” Bruce laughed. “I’m not dating her. I’m not dating anyone.” He felt the need to add. “And I don’t mean to bother you, but I like your company. And I want to spend time with you.” Jack gave him a skeptical look. “Why don’t I drive you home? We can talk.” At that point, his look turned completely incredulous and Bruce stammered, trying to think of a way to convince him. “Better than riding the bus, right?” He added in lamely, almost flinching at his own words. After a long, tense pause, the green haired teen sighed and nodded.

“Fine.”

Bruce grinned, which prompted Jack’s expression to turn pained. He quickly schooled his expression into a more neutral one. The teacher came in and gave them a quiz, but class seemed to pass agonizingly slowly to Bruce, who spent the entire time staring at the clock. He couldn’t make sense of the quiz no matter how hard he tried, so a few minutes before the bell rang he circled random answers and turned it in. He waited impatiently for Jack to pack his things before guiding him out of the building and to his car.

“Ease up there buddy you’ve got a death grip on my shoulder. I’m coming willingly, ok? You don’t need to treat me like a hostage.”

Bruce flushed, yanking his hand away like he had been burned. “Sorry.”

Jack didn’t respond. He just snorted and motioned for Bruce to lead the way. They walked across the parking lot to where the car was, but after unlocking it, Bruce turned to see Jack standing a few feet away with a strange expression on his face.

“Something wrong?” Bruce asked worriedly.

“I thought I was joking about the Lamborghini.” Jack replied, prompting Bruce to laugh.

“Yeah…You were right on the nose with that one.” He grinned awkwardly, hyperaware that it wasn’t a car highschool kids normally drove. “Uh, c’mon. Get in and tell me your address. I’ll GPS it.” The other boy hopped in the passenger side and smiled, running his hands over the upholstery before telling Bruce a street name and house number. Bruce put the address into the GPS before he realized that it was in the Narrows, smack dab in the center of Hell's Kitchen. AKA, the bad part of town. He cleared his throat and pulled out of the parking lot, trying to figure out how to break the silence.

It took all of 3 seconds before Jack did it fore him.

“You gay or what?”

Bruce actually swerved, almost hitting a lamp post as one tire hopped onto the curb before he quickly straightened the car out. Jack grabbed the dashboard with one hand, Bruce’s arm with the other, as he let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush

“What?!” Bruce thought he had misheard.

“I asked if you were fucking gay, that doesn’t mean you need to kill us!” Jack shouted. “Holy shit, man… watch the road!” Bruce took in a deep breath, the fact that Jack hadn’t let go of his arm making his brain go fuzzy, before he managed to nod.

“Sorry. I just… uh… didn’t expect that.”

“Goddamn! Obviously!” Jack seemed to notice his grip on Bruce’s sleeve and retracted his hand, clearing his throat as he did so. “So you gonna answer?” He apparently wouldn’t be deterred, even by a near death experience.

“Are you?” Bruce asked, trying to buy time.

“Weren't you paying attention to Harvey's little story?" He snorted. Bruce vaguely recalled Harvey mentioning a "fling" between Jack and Jonathan, something he had assumed was platonic, but apparently was not. “I’m Schrödinger’s gay.” Bruce frowned.

“What’s that?” Jack hummed for a moment before he explained.

“It’s kind of a joke. It means that no matter who I date, boy or girl, it’s a gay relationship and a straight one at the same time.” He explained slowly. Bruce nodded like he understood, trying not to ask a million questions. “I mean, I’m a boy, parts and all, but that’s about where the similarities end.” More nodding from Bruce, who was on autopilot at this point. “I dress as a girl sometime. I’m never a man’s man, I hate sports, and farting is just annoying, but boys clothes are comfortable, you know? But occasionally I wanna to wear dresses, or makeup, or whatever. So when I date a girl, I’m dating her as a boy, but I’m not? And when I date a boy, I’m a boy. But not.”

Jack was staring out the window as he spoke, and Bruce stayed quiet, feeling like if he made any noise, the spell would be broken, and Jack would go back to giving him the silent treatment.

“I don’t know what to call it, and I know a lot of labels, trust me. I’m just not… human sometimes. My skin feels wrong. My body feels wrong. It’s not any specific parts, and god knows I don’t want surgery, but sometimes my bones grate against each other and my teeth hurt and my organs are too big. So yeah. I’m “ish.” Boyish, girlish, otherish.” He fell silent for a long time, and Bruce felt the need to prompt him.

“So you date boys and girls?” Bruce asked slowly.

“Yeah.” Jack nodded absently. “I’m bisexual. Technically pan, cause I’m attracted to all genders, but I like bisexual better cause I like women and men in very different ways, so gender matters somewhat. I’m kind of a sucker for men, though, no pun intended.” He laughed, snapping out of his reverie. Harvey had been right. His laugh was loud and screechy and high pitched, like nails being dragged over a blackboard coupled with a cat wailing. Bruce loved it. “So what about you, rich boy? Got a taste for twigs and berries? Or are oysters more your style?”

“I’m… uh… I don’t know. But I guess I like boys… and girls too.” Bruce said quietly and he saw Jack smile out of the corner of his eye. “But don’t tell anyone. Anyone at ALL. Not Harley or Scarecrow or anyone.” He cautioned him and the other nodded solemnly. “I’m not out yet.”

“Whatever rubs your rhubarb.” Jack shrugged. “I was in the closet till 5th grade when I came out as bi. I’ve only really dated Harley and Jonathan though. Harley and I broke up cause she told me if we were gonna be together I needed to pick if I was a boy or girl. I told her to fuck off.” Jack explained idly. Bruce felt an enormous weight lift off his shoulders at telling someone his secret without being judged. “So… you’re ok with the whole Schrödinger thing?” Jack asked slowly.

“Course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. Some people don’t like it. You probably would’ve found out soon anyway, I wear female stuff in plays a lot, and on Halloween and sprit days and shit. Easier if I told you.”

“I’m glad you did.” Bruce replied, glancing over at Jack just in time to see tension fade from his eyes, but he continued to shift around restlessly, like a bug in a jar.

“It ok if we don’t go… straight to my house? You could drop me off somewhere else I’m just… not in the mood to go home right now.” Jack muttered. Bruce tried not to cheer.

“I know what you mean.” He grinned and turned off the GPS. “Where do you wanna go?”

Jack laughed and finally stopped fidgeting, leaning back in his seat as he relaxed.

“I dunno, Brucie. You’re the one who owns this town, so you tell me.”

Bruce smiled, getting an idea as he headed downtown.

“I know just the place.”


	4. What Goes Around Comes Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce tries to be friends, and Jack does too.
> 
> That is, until everything goes wrong.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” Jack asked incredulously as they pulled up to their destination.

“No…” Bruce frowned, looking at the building, then to Jack, then back at the building. “Why? Do you not… like it here?”

“I don’t come here all that often. I just never pegged you for the mall type, Brucie.” Jack smirked and opened his door, stepping out and heading for the doors as Bruce followed suit. The mall was a huge one, four levels and more shops than you could count. Bruce figured they could just walk around until something caught their interest, or even grab something to eat at the food court.

“Why’d you start calling me that?” He blurted, once they were inside. Jack gave him a weird look, so he continued. “Brucie. You called me it twice.”

“Did I?” Jack hummed and wandered over to a map of the mall, eyes scanning the lists of stores. “Didn’t realize it. Want me to stop?”

“No.” Bruce said hurriedly, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. Just wanted to know if there was a reason.” He paused, watching Jack as the boy looked at the map. “Uh… see anywhere you wanna go?”

“No-P-e.” Jack popped his lips, emphasizing the p as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m broke anyway.”

“I can pay. It’s no big deal.” Bruce shrugged. It really wasn’t. Money had never been an issue in his life, and he rarely bought anything, so he didn’t mind in the slightest. Jack, however, seemed to bristle at the offer, expression darkening as his jaw clenched.

“What are you, a goddamn sugar daddy?” He snapped, and Bruce actually took a step back from surprise. “I’m not just gonna take your money. This isn’t a date.” Jack muttered, and Bruce held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I didn’t think it was.” He said, quietly, but something in his gut twisted a bit at Jack’s harsh words. Was it really that upsetting a thought? “Just trying to be polite.”

“Offering to buy shit for some random kid who’s name you never knew before today isn’t polite, it’s weird.” He turned away, pretending to study the map so he didn’t have to look at Bruce’s face. “I’m a quid pro quo kinda guy. I don’t just take stuff from someone unless I can pay them back somehow.” Bruce mulled this over, then nodded.

“Well I owe you for the hallpass thing this morning. Is that enough to buy you a drink?”

Jack gave him an annoyed but mildly impressed look, then nodded.

“Only cause I’m in the mood for coffee.” He mumbled, and Bruce smiled before following him through the mall to the food court. They got in line at a coffee kiosk, Jack fidgeting as Bruce tried not to stare at him. It wasn’t a rude thing, he just found Jack… fascinating. The boy’s mannerisms, his expressions, his clothes, his hair, everything about him was so… different. Bruce had no idea why he hadn’t noticed him until that day.

“Large, iced, extra strong, mocha, caramel, no milk, lotta sugar, and whipped crème.” They had reached the head of the line, and Jack rattled his order off quickly, fast enough that Bruce assumed this was what he normally got. The barista managed to keep up, and put in his order before looking to Bruce expectantly.

“Oh, uh… medium latte. I guess.”

Jack snorted, but stepped aside, moving to the pickup counter and leaning against it, drumming his fingertips on the counter impatiently. Bruce took the opportunity to observe him closely, and noticed that Jack’s eyes flitted around a lot. Always watching, seemingly taking in everything, although the boy’s attention seemed to be mainly focused on his coffee being made.

They got their drinks pretty fast, and Bruce led them to a table near the edge of the food court, not wanting to sit near the middle and be scrutinized. Jack seemed to appreciate this, plunking down contentedly as he slurped his coffee faster than Bruce thought humanly possible.

He let his cool for a bit before sipping it idly. Bruce wasn’t a huge fan of coffee, but he liked it on occasion, and this place was pretty good, as far as chains go.

“Redbull.” He suddenly blurted, causing the other boy to jump slightly.

“Gesundheit?” Jack gave him a strange look and Bruce shook his head.

“No, no, I was just thinking… not to be rude or anything, but you took Redbull from Harvey without needing to argue about payment.” Bruce shrugged. “Is it me, or does he owe you, or does he already know you’re gonna pay him back… and like, how? Will you get him a Redbull? Or something of equal value? Does the value have to be monetary?” He took another sip of his drink to try and smooth over the awkwardness. “It just seems like a strange system.”

“Ok, well, first off, lemme say that you are the only person in the history of ever to put this much thought into my personal rules.” Jack’s tone sounded incredulous, but when Bruce risked a glance upwards, he was smiling, which the other took as a good sign. “Second, he was bribing me to sit with you guys and stop moping, so I count that as payment. Third, it’s different with friends, and finally, it’s different cause Harvey owes me so much it’s not even funny.”

Bruce leaned closer, interested in Jack’s explanation. “Why does he owe you?” Jack’s smile faded and Bruce hurriedly tried to correct his mistake. “You don’t have to say, if you don’t want. It’s fine.”

“Nah, it’s not a real secret or anything, just… I don’t ever talk to anyone outside of the lunch group you saw, and they all know, but no one else knows, so I don’t know if I’m allowed to let you know, y’know?” Bruce managed to decode Jack’s words, then nodded.

“Well I don’t really talk to anyone at all, so I can promise I’ll keep it a secret.” He sipped his drink as Jack thought it over. “Plus, you know my secret, so if I tell, you can tell, and ruin my life.”

“If I go around saying you’re bi, no one will believe me.” Jack snorted. “I’m the queerest kid in our school, both in the dictionary definition way and the gay way, so if I say someone else is queer, everyone’s gonna assume I’m either trying to start shit, or lying to myself in the hopes of getting a date.” He laughed, but Bruce didn’t.

“That’s shitty.” He murmured, and Jack huffed, draining the rest of his coffee.

“That’s life.”

“Want the rest of mine?” Bruce gestured to his coffee and Jack hesitated. “I’ll give it to you if you tell me the secret.” He wheedled. Jack caved, grabbing the coffee and draining it in one gulp before leaning in and dropping his voice.

“Harvey was the one who started the fire in the chemistry lab last year.” He murmured, and Bruce’s jaw dropped.

“You’re kidding!” He said in a loud whisper and Jack motioned for him to calm down.

“It was an accident, but yeah, it was him. I was walking by and I saw him trying to put out this huge fire, like a madman, so I ran in there and dragged him out. If I hadn’t… he either would’ve been caught and expelled, or burned alive.” Jack shrugged and sat back, like it was no big deal. “So he owes me for keeping my mouth shut.”

“He owes you for saving his life!” Bruce exclaimed.

“Hypothetically he could’ve gotten himself out. He was just trying to do damage control.”

“Do you think he would’ve stayed past the point of no return?” Bruce asked hesitantly. Jack frowned, getting a distant look in his eyes.

“I dunno.” He answered honestly, and Bruce almost cringed, realizing the implications of that statement. “I mean… everyone in the group is fucked up in one way or another, some pretty obviously, like me, and some… not so much. Harvey acts like Mr. Perfect, but he’s… not.” Jack lowered his eyes, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie. “And as much shit as I give him, I’d never really try to kick him out, and neither would anyone else. The blackbox is a safehaven for people like us.” He smiled, looking almost pained. “Freaks.”

“You’re not a freak.” Bruce said softly, and Jack laughed, the same loud sound Bruce heard in the car, but sharper than before, almost angry.

“Yeah. Yeah I am.” Jack sucked on his teeth, raising his bright green eyes to meet the other’s. It felt like his gaze would bore holes through Bruce’s skull, but he couldn’t look away. “And I think you are too.” He grinned, placing both his hands on the table, palms flat against the fake wood grain plastic veneer. “Take it as a compliment, Brucie. You’re just like me.”

An icy feeling slid through Bruce’s chest, scaldingly cold, enough to make him shiver reflexively. Jack notices this, taking in his every movement, but never breaking eye contact. There was a stretch of silence that Bruce felt the need to fill, but couldn’t find the words to. Jack’s smile became tinged with regret, and he dropped his gaze, standing and shoving back the chair.

“I should go.” He said quietly, suddenly avoiding Bruce’s gaze.

“I drove you here. I said I’d take you home.” Bruce pushed his chair back, but Jack held up his hand and stepped away.

“It’s fine. I’ll take the bus.”

“Don’t be stupid, it’s no big deal.” Bruce frowned and stood, grabbing both their cups and tossing them in the trash. Jack shifted uncomfortably, glancing over his shoulder as if considering whether or not he should make a break for it. Bruce turned and headed to his car, relieved when Jack followed him instead of running in the opposite direction.

They got in, Jack leaning against the door, stretching as far away from the other as possible in the small car. Bruce tried not to take it personally, pulling out of the mall and heading to the address Jack gave him. The quiet was oppressive, the kind of uncomfortable atmosphere that only occurs in the presence of a particularly talkative and energetic person who has fallen silent.

The houses they past grew shabbier and shabbier, bars appearing on the windows, graffiti covering every flat surface. Bruce tried not to look disturbed that Jack lived in such a bad neighborhood. He probably failed.

Their destination was a worn down apartment building that looked like it had existed since the Great Depression. Bruce pulled up to the curb, and Jack hopped out before the car had fully stopped.

“See you tomorrow?” Bruce half-asked, and Jack paused, door ajar. He glanced around, noticing that passerby was staring at the Lamborghini like they had never seen anything of the sort before. Bruce became painfully aware how much he stuck out in a place like this. And how much Jack fit in.

“I guess.” The green haired boy finally muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag as he nervously looked at his building. “Thanks for the ride.” And with that, he slammed the door and ran up the steps, two at a time, before shoving open the creaking and half-broken door and disappearing into the dark foyer of the building.

Bruce sat there for a while, insanely hoping that Jack would re-appear and everything would be fine, but the door remained shut, and eventually he had to admit that lingering there was asking to be robbed, so he put the car in gear and sped off.

He ended the day like he had started it; going 120 down some back road, trying to escape his foul mood.


	5. Rubber Bands Aren't Fun When They Snap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce works out and gets a boo-boo.

Bruce made it home in one piece despite his reckless driving, and found dinner waiting for him in his room, with a note from Alfred telling him that the man had gone out to see a play with an old friend and would be home later. He felt a pang of regret for their argument this morning, and decided to try and make it up to Alfred somehow. Maybe he’d cook dinner…. On second thought, maybe he’d get takeout. Bruce was a horrible chef.

He ate in front of his computer, putting forth the minimal amount of effort needed to get his homework done. School seemed like a waste of time to him, seeing as the information being taught was mostly useless. With that done, and his plate cleared, he grabbed his tablet and a change of clothes before heading downstairs to the gym. 

One of the benefits of being rich was being able to get things “just because”. Bruce’s father had installed an in-home gym with state of the art equipment, despite being a doctor who rarely worked out at all. Bruce often went down there to work off steam, either running on the treadmill, or lifting weights, or using a punching bag, until his body ached and the buzz in his head had dulled.

Today was a treadmill day, with Bruce jogging briefly to warm up before he tugged his shirt off and tossed it aside. Then he turned the speed up, and broke into a full run. He pushed his body beyond what was safe, lungs burning, sweat plastering his hair down and dripping into his eyes.

Bruce tried to wipe the sweat off his face, ultimately making it worse, given the fact that his hands were just as damp as the rest of him. His eyes stung, temporarily blinding him as he tried to shut the treadmill off. Bruce tried to find the off switch but he couldn’t locate the right button by touch alone. A pang of annoyance flashed through him as he berated himself for choosing not to clip the safety switch to his pants. Then he tripped.

Unable to see, Bruce swore loudly, his feet shooting out from under him quite violently, the treadmill’s high speed not a forgiving one. He tried to right himself, tried to grab onto something to slow or stop his descent, but he only managed to twist in mid-air, just enough so that his back hit the treadmill instead of his face. He was shot off immediately, skidding a few feet on the padded floor for good measure. Bruce found himself sprawled out in the center of the room, the pain of his stinging eyes drowned out by the raw ache of his back and ass.

He picked himself up, wincing as his body protested all movement. Finding his shirt, he wiped his face, then glanced in the wall to wall mirrors to asses the damage. Bruce could see his back reflected in detail, the edge of the injured skin an irritated red, while a good chunk of the middle was a strange white color, almost glossy, like it had been polished. He realized that was pretty close to the truth, since the treadmill had been going so fast that the friction had burned the skin off.

Rolling his shoulders, he swore again, pissed at nothing in particular, at the same time he was angry at everything in the world. The throbbing pain in his back only served as further humiliation, feeing into his rage instead of burning it out. Bruce felt sore and exhausted and pent up and twitchy, all at the same time. Making a snap decision, he stormed across the room to the punching bag, hauling his fist back and slamming into it with all his strength.

He had never done this without taping his hands before, making sure his knuckles wouldn’t get bruised or scraped by the bag’s rough material. But right now, he couldn’t care less about a few more marks. The pain seemed to drive him, even as sweat dripped onto the raw skin of his back, even as his knuckles split and bled from the force of driving them into the punching bag, even as his muscles screamed at him to stop, his heart jumping in his throat, his lungs squeezing tightly and angrily in protest of the abuse, he kept going.

Bruce only stopped when his fist slipped, hitting only air. He stumbled forward, catching himself on the bag as it swung back towards him. He clutched it tightly, trying to keep himself upright, sucking in air with heaving gasps as his legs shook, and then gave out from under him. 

He dropped to his knees, arms falling limply to the side as he curled his hands in his lap. Bruce could feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body, focused not only in his chest, but his back, his knuckles, his head, and his stomach. His vision swam from exertion, and he realized how dry his mouth had gotten at the same time he noticed that his knuckles had bled onto his shorts.

It took him a long time to gather the energy needed to stand up and drag his protesting body upstairs, but he managed to do so before Alfred got home from the theater. Bruce collapsed into his bed, laying on his stomach so as not to aggravate his back, still covered in sweat, dressed only in his bloodstained shorts.

He’d shower in the morning. Right now, he couldn’t even bear the thought of doing anything but closing his eyes, and falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Jack will kiss it better.


	6. Crackle. Pop.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Painful showers! Half-assed references! All about lye! Chemistry class with the gang! Well... part of the gang...

Bruce woke up to a blaring alarm and the feeling of regret ingrained in every cell of his body.

He felt like he was made of sandpaper and glass shards, skin too tight, muscles aching, dry mouth… hell, it even hurt to see.

It took an enormous amount of willpower just to switch his alarm off, even more to get out of bed and stumble into his bathroom, but he managed to wrench the shower all the way to hot and step under the spray.

Big mistake.

The water pressure made his back scream in pain, and the temperature felt like boiling oil was being poured onto his flesh. He bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood, counting slowly to 20 and forcing himself to stay put. Eventually, the stabbing pain dulled to more of a numb ache, and his muscles relaxed slightly from the heat and steam. He washed his hair quickly, the shampoo making his knuckles sting before being washed away down his back, irritating the friction burn there.

Bruce was beginning to think that he was going to be in pain forever.

After both too long, and too short a time, he got out and dried himself as carefully as he could. Of course, he still managed to re-open the wounds on his knuckles enough that his towel was dotted in red by the time he had finished. Twisting to examine his back in the mirror, his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. The reddish skin around the edges of the burn had flushed a deep scarlet, while the white, taught skin had turned a greenish yellow color, even shinier than it had been last night. If Bruce hadn’t just toweled off, he would have thought it was wet.

He got dressed stiffly, picking out the softest long sleeve shirt he owned, hoping he could tug it down to hide his knuckles, however slightly. Bruce left as quickly as he could, shouting a goodbye to Alfred before the man could see or stop him. If the old butler caught sight of his injuries, he might force Bruce back into the weekly therapy sessions he had gone to until he was in middle school, and he really wasn’t in the mood to discuss his parent’s death over and over again with some frumpy woman in heavy makeup.

Half fast walking, half limping to his car, Bruce managed to throw his bag in the passenger seat and slide in without exasperating his injuries too much. He would have to sit ramrod straight while driving, and in all his classes too, but he could handle that.

No traffic laws were broken on the way to class, mostly because he was actually on time, partially because he was too sore to press down on the gas harder than necessary.

He parked in his usual spot, taking a moment to stretch his aching muscles in an effort to loosen them up, before grabbing his backpack and heading inside. Bruce had Chemistry first, and instead of loitering in the hall before the bell, or grabbing a snack from the vending machine like he usually did, he decided to seek out Jack. Having no idea where the boy might be, he decided to check the theater. Cautiously pulling open the door, he stuck his head inside and scanned the room. Two bodies were stretched out on the floor, entwined so much that it took a moment for Bruce to realize it was Harley and Pamela.

Making out.

He quickly yanked his head back, thankful he hadn't been seen.  

Adjusting his backpack so it didn't dig too painfully into his wound, he ran through a list of possible places Jack could be. Thinking back, he recalled showing up to class relatively early and seeing Jack already there. It made sense that the boy went straight to class in the morning. Bruce had never seen him in the hallway, or anywhere else that students normally hung out before the bell rang. With that in mind, he headed to chemistry, hoping to find Jack there so they could speak in relative privacy. 

About what, though? Bruce felt the need to explain his behavior yesterday, apologize to Jack, but he didn't understand what he had done to upset the other boy. He really wanted to ask Jack to explain  _his_ behavior, but he didn't imagine that would go over too well.

He was still wracking his brain for what to say when he arrived at Chemistry, Jack was indeed there, sitting in the empty classroom, reading a comic book with his headphones in. Bruce smiled to himself, then frowned when he realized that seeing the green haired boy had gotten rid of a tense feeling he hadn’t known was there in the first place.

Normally, Bruce sat in the front right corner of the room. The board was closer to the left side, and the teacher’s desk was perpendicular, to his seat, which gave him a nice bit of privacy. The desks were long, high, and black, the stereotype of science desks. Two kids sat at each desk, arranged in three columns and four rows. Sitting in the back row garnered more attention than Bruce wanted, seeing as teachers knew that kids who sat near the back were normally up to no good. 

Jack was sitting in the far right column, second to last row. Bruce vaguely recalled him sitting alone, no one beside him, or behind him. It was a relatively small class, less than twenty kids overall, so it wasn’t strange for there to be an empty desk, but Bruce doubted that Jack had ended up alone by accident.

Trying to stroll casually over, and managing more of a limp, he sat next to Jack and looked at the boy, expecting a greeting or acknowledgement of some sort. His presence was ignored almost entirely, a brief flick of Jack’s eyes confirming he wasn’t imagining the other boy before returning to his comic. Bruce fidgeted, feeling even more awkard than before. He still had no idea what to say, and he briefly wondered if he should move to his normal seat, but decided against it, figuring he’d look weird if he did. Well… weirder than he already appeared to be.

Instead, he pulled out his notebook and laptop, along with his Chemistry homework, and arranged them on the desk, indicating he was going to stay there for the duration of class. Jack inhaled deeply, held his breath for a moment, then exhaled slowly, like he was trying to remain calm.

“What?” He turned to look at Bruce, almost glaring, his expression straddling the line between tired and angry. He noticed that Jack had dark circles around his eyes, worse than yesterday by far, making it look almost like he had two black eyes. 

“Uh...” Bruce didn’t exactly know how to respond to Jack’s greeting. “Can you hear me over your music?”

“I’m not listening to music. What do you want?” Jack prompted him, impatiently.

“Your headphones are in.” Bruce frowned confusedly.

“I put them in so people don’t talk to me. I don’t listen to music and read at the same time unless the music doesn’t have lyrics. Otherwise, it’s distracting.” He took his headphones out, putting them and his phone into his bag. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m in this class too, you know.” He mumbled, not at all confident in his reasoning.

“You sit across the room. Why did you change seats?” Jack snapped.

“I dunno. We both sit alone, so I figured it made sense to… consolidate?” Bruce ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. Jack’s eyes followed his hand, his annoyed expression turning into a curious one. 

“The fuck happened to your hands?” He stretched out and snagged Bruce’s wrist, tugging his hand closer and shoving his sleeve out of the way. “Looks like you went ten rounds with a belt sander…” Jack glanced at Bruce’s face, searching for any injuries. Finding none, he looked impressed. “And won, apparently.”

“I didn’t get in a fight.” Bruce hesitated, not wanting to lose Jack’s respect. “I was just… working out.” The other boy looked puzzled, eyes drifting from Bruce’s wounds to his face, then back again. 

“Y’know… most people just get sore…” He grabbed Bruce’s other hand, flipping it over and examining the similarly injured knuckles with a scrutinizing eye. “Punching bag, right? Vinyl?” 

“Uh, Yeah.” He blinked in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Cause there’s scrapes on your knuckles but none anywhere else, so you were punching something. No bruising, though, so not a wall, or anything hard, and they look rubbed raw instead of cracked open, so more friction than grit. Vinyl’s a bitch, especially on skin like yours. 

Bruce’s mouth was hanging open slightly. Jack noticed this and pulled his hands away, eyes flicking down as he shifted back in his seat to put some distance between them.

“You know a lot about injured knuckles.” He finally managed.

“Yeah, well. Personal experience and all that.” Jack smirked, eyes nervous and awkward, contrasting his easy grin. When Bruce raised his eyebrows, Jack sighed, pushing his sleeves back and presenting his hands, palms down, in front of Bruce. They were shaking slightly, like the boy had drunk too much coffee. Or he was nervous. But the latter was much less likely than the former.

Bruce hesitated, then reached out, taking Jack’s hands in his own to steady them, and examining the skin closely. 

Jack’s nails were long, some jagged at the tips like they had been broken and then ignored. There were remnants of what looked like black paint underneath them, and around the cuticles. His fingers were narrow and blunt despite the long nails. His joints were wide and rounded, making his fingers look crooked in some places. 

As fascinating as Jack’s hands were, Bruce focused his attention on the boy’s knuckles. His skin was pale, almost sickly, making the purplish red scar tissue blatantly stand out.

“Wow.” Bruce murmured. “You really are the expert.” Pausing, he brushed his thumb over a bumpy scar that ran down the back of Jack’s hand. “How’d you get all these?” 

“One’s on my knuckles are from fights.” Jack shrugged, looking uncomfortable, but making no effort to retract his hands. “Most of the lines on my fingers are from a knife game. You put your palm on the table with your fingers spread and stick the knife in between the spaces in order as fast as possible. Or someone else does it, if you really trust them.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “I missed a few times.”

Bruce openly stared at the dark lines, trying and failing to count them all. “What about that one?” He tapped the scar on the back of his hand, an inch long or two long, and a quarter inch wide. It was bumpy and textured, a pinkish color on the raised sides with an indented middle that was a darker color. If Bruce looked at it sideways, it resembled a lopsided mouth. 

“Chemical burn.” Jack frowned. “Lye.”

“What?!” Bruce’s head snapped up, regarding Jack with an incredulous expression tinged with worry. “The stuff in Drano? How’d that burn your hand so badly?”

“Drano has diluted lye, but yeah, it’s the same stuff.” He tugged his hands away, pushing his sleeves down to obscure the scars.

“But Drano doesn’t eat through your skin.” Bruce challenged.

“Yeah, well like I said, it’s diluted.” Jack rolled his eyes. “Lye reacts with water, or the hydrogen and stuff in water. When it’s in powder form it won’t really hurt you or burn your skin until you add water. Pure lye will fuck you up royally, and there’s no way to really… get it off.” He shrugged. “Washing it off makes it worse, y’know? So I got some on my hand, which unfortunately had water on it, and it burned like hell. I tried to wash it off and it burned more. It stopped eventually, mind you, but I couldn’t move my hand normally for like… a few months.”

“Why did you have pure lye? What were you even doing with it?” Bruce asked, entirely bewildered by Jack’s casual attitude.

“You… don’t watch a lot of TV… do you?” He gave Bruce an amused and pitying look, causing the other boy’s hackles to raise in indignation.

“I’ve got better things to do.” Bruce tried not to sound haughty. Judging by the look on Jack’s face, he failed.

“Well… google it, then. We’re in Chemistry class for fuck’s sake.” He laughed, not his normal screechy hyena noise, but instead an airy chuckle that sounded more calculated than amused. “Ask the teacher or something. 

Bruce fell silent as Jack turned back to his comic, contemplating whether he could just pull out his phone and search for uses of lye. Something about that seemed embarrassing, though, and he doubted that asking the teacher would go smoothly, given the fact that Jack wasn’t exactly an upstanding citizen, and he had alluded that the reason he had been using lye wasn’t on the straight and narrow.

The silence lasted for a while, only broken by two students entering the room, caught up in a heated discussion.

“-should have taken him along with him, or at least the body, so that the other patients thought he escaped.” 

Bruce realized the speaker was Jonathan Crane, the boy from yesterday who went by Scarecrow. Walking next to him was Edward… Nygma? The riddle boy. He remembered that Harvey mentioned Jack and Jonathan dating, and wondered if he knew how Jack had gotten his scars. Maybe Jack hadn’t told him… maybe Bruce was the first.

And maybe Jonathan knew the story behind all of Jack’s scars. He probably knew what lye was used for too. Bruce’s stomach twisted slightly. Why were the two of them even here?

“He wasn’t worried about people thinking Randal escaped, he was trying to prevent the man’s suffering.” Nygma rolled his eyes, strolling to the desk diagonal to the right from Jack’s, putting them in the center of the room. “It wasn’t an aesthetic choice.”

“He hurled the washing basin through the window to escape in honor of Randal’s memory.” Crane argued, setting his books down on the same table as Nygma sat down. “It was entirely an aesthetic choice. And if he had taken Randal’s body with him, the patient’s would have thought he escaped! Chief could have laid the man’s body to rest, and started a revolution, all in one fell swoop.”

“You’ve got a problem with aesthetics.” Nygma muttered.

“It’s not a problem, it’s a gift. Right Jac-” He cut himself off when his eyes landed on Bruce, apparently having not realized the man was present before now. “Why are you here?”

“I’m in this class.” Bruce replied sharply. “Why are _you_ here?” 

Crane laughed, dismissing Bruce’s glare entirely. “I know you’re in this class. I’m in this class too.”

“Ditto.” Nygma piped up, having swiveled in his chair to better join the conversation.

“Then why’d you ask me why I was here?” Bruce felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He had never bothered to learn his classmate’s names, or even their faces, choosing to keep his head down and work on his own instead.

“I meant “why are you sitting next to Jack”.” Crane tilted his head, giving Bruce a derisive look over the top of his glasses. “Not “why are you present in the classroom”. You normally sit in the front corner.” He paused for emphasis. “Alone.”

Bruce felt like he had been punched in the stomach, hands twitching in his lap with the need to fight back, despite Jonathan having never touched him. 

“No assigned seats.” He replied, the false confidence in his voice sounding weak to him. “I can sit where I want.”

Crane studied him, eyes sliding over to Jack and doing the same. He apparently saw a silent warning in the boy’s eyes, because he shrugged, muttered “I suppose,” and sat down. Nygma glanced at Bruce, winked, then turned back towards the front of the class. 

Bruce was confused, embarrassed, and angry. All three emotions fought for dominance until the bell rang, snapping him out of his internal struggle as other students filed into the room and took their seats.

No one else commented on his seating change, and he slowly began to relax as the teacher informed the class that today they’d be watching a movie on the use of forensic chemistry.

Sit silently in a dark room and watch a movie. Sure. He could do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight Club reference, anyone? 
> 
> I had a whole theory about the Joker's scars that stems from Fight Club and how Jared Leto was in FC and is now playing the Joker, but that theory got SHOT IN THE FACE as soon as I saw the redesign of the Joker's costume/face...
> 
> SO I'LL WRITE MY OWN AU GODDAMNIT


	7. Fairytales Are Only Fun If You Don't Read The Originals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!

He was wrong.

Bruce had never been easily distracted before, but as soon as the teacher put on the film and dimmed the lights, his mind scattered. He became hyperaware of his own body, and Jack’s proximity to it. To him.

His pain grew worse with every passing moment, like his skin was shrinking, tightening more and more until Bruce was certain he’d burst like an overcooked sausage.

But the universe offered no reprieve from his suffering, and he was forced to spend the entire class trying not to scream as some scientist blathered on about turkey basters and anti-freeze.

Wait… what was the video about again? Dammit. He couldn’t even pay attention. They were all supposed to be filling out a worksheet, but he could barely concentrate enough to read the questions, much less figure out how mispronunciation could solve a murder. Wasn’t this Chemistry class? Since when did they watch murder mysteries?!

Finally, after an almost ridiculous amount of time, the bell rang. The teacher tried to brief the students on next class’ agenda, but she didn’t even have time to turn on the lights before they stampeded for the door.

Bruce lingered, moving slowly both because he was still horrifically sore and because he was hoping to walk with Jack again. Jonathan seemed to have a similar idea, or rather, he knew what Bruce was up to, because he held back as well. 

“Go ahead, Crane.” Jack shoved his books in his bag with one hand, flapping the other at Jonathan in a dismissive manner. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” Jonathan frowned, but left without a word, glaring at Bruce one last time before turning on his heel and disappearing into the hall. Bruce felt a vindictive surge of pleasure at Jack using Jonathan’s last name, something that was likely meaningless to Jack, and petty of him to enjoy, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You my new bodyguard?” Bruce’s vindictive moment of glee was shattered by the ice in Jack’s voice as he turned to face him, arms crossed, expression hostile.

“What?” He blinked, stunned, as he so often felt around Jack. The boy kept him on his toes, that was for sure.

“Yesterday you were escorting me to class and stalking me during lunch, now you’re switching seats and getting into some weird pissing contest with my ex!” He threw up his hands, exasperated. “So are you my bodyguard or do you wanna get in my pants?”

“JACK!” The teacher, who had apparently been listening the entire time, suddenly decided to speak up. “That is not school appropriate!”

“Is that really surprising to you? _I’m_ not school appropriate.” Jack muttered, causing the teacher to give him a warning look while trying not to laugh.

With that, Jack stormed off, leaving Bruce to gather his wits and follow, internally cringing at how creepy he must appear to be, chasing after Jack in the hallway, but unwilling to let the boy push him away when Bruce didn’t understand what he did wrong in the first place.

Jack was faster than he looked, and managed to part the crowd with his appearance alone, while Bruce was left to dodge through the mass of chattering students, wincing every time someone so much as brushed up against him. 

He peered ahead just in time to see a flash of green hair leave the main hall in favor of a rarely used stairwell. Bruce sighed in relief, determinedly pushing people aside in order to catch up. Now he’d have the chance to talk, to explain himself. Whatever needed to be explained, anyway. 

When he rounded the corner, he drew up short, attempting to process the scene before him and failing. Jack was halfway up the stairs on the landing, surrounded by a half dozen or so boys, all looking at him like most people looked at dog shit while he resolutely addressed one of them.

Well… maybe not addressed… yelled might’ve been more accurate. Snarled, really.

“-incompetence, you brain-dead Cephalopod! I have better things to do than repeat myself in the fleeting hope that through some miracle you might somehow triumph over your own crushing ignorance in order to allow my words to sink in enough for you to understand!” Jack barely paused long enough to breathe before continuing. “In summation, incase my longer-than-three-letter words confused you; fuck off, and get out of my way.”

Bruce held his breath, waiting to see the boy’s reaction. All in all, the fallout was pretty anticlimactic. The larger boy shoved Jack roughly, causing him to step back, almost but not quite stumbling. Had it been anyone else, it would’ve ended there.

But it was Jack. 

An odd scraping noise seemed to emanate from Jack’s throat, causing the boy who had shoved him to recoil slightly in disgust.

He should’ve gotten out of the way completely.

A second after the noise was made, Bruce realized what it was, and a second after that, Jack was spitting on the boy’s face.

“How’s that for contamination, asswipe?” Jack folded his arms challengingly.

The look of surprise on his face almost outweighed the anger and revulsion. Almost.

Bruce didn’t have much time to appreciate the boy’s shock, or the smug grin on Jack’s features, because a second later, all hell broke loose.

Jack was outnumbered and outsized, but he still managed to get in a few hits that impressed Bruce. Most were nut shots, which then dissolved into blind headbutting, and by the time Bruce had launched himself into the fray, Jack was biting anyone and anything that came near him.

Bruce’s help, as pathetic as it was in his weakened state, didn’t do much, and they both ended up bearing the brunt of angry kicks, and punches. Bruce less so than Jack, mostly because he wasn’t the focus of the boys’ anger, but also because he ended up on the floor with his hands wrapped around his head while Jack was still trying to single handedly tear the other’s apart. 

Jack was subdued when one of the boys managed to grab his arm and swing him around, causing him to crash into the wall with a sickeningly hollow noise that had Bruce cringing more than his aching body did.

The green haired boy crumpled like a used condom thrown in a wastebasket. The other boys took this as a sign of their victory and left, but not before the boy Jack had started the fight with got in a last word.

“Faggot.” He spat, literally, paying back in kind Jack’s treatment of him.

When their footsteps had faded, Bruce picked himself up, walking over to Jack, who was still sprawled out, half propped up on the wall, eyes squeezed shut.

"Are-" He cut himself off, then tried again. "How badly did they hurt you?” Bruce asked, figuring ‘are you ok’ was the wrong question.

“You absolute idiot.” Jack muttered after a long pause, eyes still shut. “Go away.”

Opening and closing his mouth in surprise, Bruce gritted his teeth, deciding not to simply back down. “No.” He said with a frown, feeling the pent up rage he had felt in the gym last night start to return. “What the fuck was that?”

“Oooh. Choir boy’s getting... aaanngry... Whatcha gonna do? H-...Hit me with your Rolex?” Jack scoffed, his derision lost somewhat by his pained expression.

Sighing heavily, Bruce sank to the ground, sitting across from Jack in the surprisingly spacious stairwell landing. “Just… is anything broken?”

Jack was silent for a moment before opening his eyes and shifting to a more human-ish position. “No.” He finally replied, voice low, quiet, and unnerving in it's deflated tone. “They just… I have some fucked up ribs and I felt them… shift when I hit the wall… and it hurts like a bitch.” He laughed, flinched, tried to suck in air, and ended up wheezing pathetically.

“Why’d you pick a fight with them?” Bruce wanted to help Jack, but he was certain that any pity or words of comfort would only serve to enrage the boy further.

“They… ah… don’t like me.” Jack gritted his teeth against the pain, trying to turn his grimace into a smile. “Decided that me walking by them on the stairs was… wasn’t ok. So… they, uh… well the one boy, the one I spit on, he told the others to… to be careful cause, I… well he called me “it” and he said “look out… it has AIDs and if you’re… if you’re not careful, it’ll touch you and you’ll get contaminated.” He fell silent once more, Bruce’s own shock keeping him quiet as well.

“I’m sorry.” Bruce mumbled, entirely aware that it was a useless response.

“Why’d you fucking jump in, you asinine excuse for a martyr?” Jack blurted angrily, managing not to wheeze or stutter in a miraculous display of annoyance.

“I wanted to help.” Bruce explained weakly. “You were getting hurt…” 

“You didn’t fucking help! You probably made it worse, for Christ’s sake.” He growled. “This is all some sick experiment to you, isn’t it? Seeing how the other half lives? You run into a freak and get sand up your ass about it so you decided to take a walk on the wild side and try and befriend the freak! Like I’m a fucking charity case! Like I should be grateful you even talk to me, like you’re fucking prince charming, a white knight jumping into battle to save the fucking princess. Well news flash, Brucie.” Jack snarled, causing Bruce to flinch, especially at the venomous use of his once-playful nickname. “I’m not Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or Cinder-fucking-rella. I don’t need someone to sweep me off my feet, ok?” 

“I didn’t…” Bruce tried to defend himself, but Jack was in full rant mode, and he couldn’t be stopped. 

“You want to know what it feels like to be the clown at midnight when the carriage turns into a pumpkin and your ballgown’s fucking rags? When all your friends and horsemen turn into rats and scurry away, leaving you with nothing but broken glass under your skin? You wanna know what it’s like when there’s only ever one joke and it’s **_always on you_**?” Jack was shouting now, but no one had appeared to investigate. Bruce had never wanted to see a teacher more in his life, but his luck had never been very good, and apparently, it was only getting worse over time. “Congrats! Here you are! The prince has been cast out of the tower and blinded with thorns, and all you’ve got to show for it are some bloody knuckles and a worthless pile of good intentions turned to shit.” Picking himself, up, he grabbed his bag, movements fluid despite his pain due solely to rage and adrenaline. “Now do you get it?”

And with that, Bruce was left alone in a stairwell, feeling for all the world like the clock had just struck twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i am so sorry you waited so long for an update and i gave you this ball of angst and drama and utter shit but ffs that's all im capable of :D


	8. I Once Was Lost, And Still I'm Not Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No comment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized there was a continuity error and FIXED it... (sorry)
> 
> I told myself I wasn't gonna go there. (doubly sorry)

Math passed in a blur for Bruce, something he had never really experienced before, or understood what it meant. He hadn’t even given it much thought either, assuming it was a turn of phrase and not rooted in anything substantial. Going through a blur of time convinced him otherwise.

He wasn’t sure what he had done, or said, or thought, or what others had done or said or thought for the entirety of Math class. It felt like he wasn’t in his body any longer, or rather, trapped in it while someone else was in control. Nothing felt real. His world became a TV show and he was the captive studio audience.

The only thing that kept him vaguely rooted was the knowledge that study hall was next. He’d be able to see Jack, corner him, pull him aside, explain and apologize…

Bruce was startled by the ringing of the bell, jumping slightly before quickly shoving his things in his bag and determinedly heading to the library. When he got there, he scanned the room, a pit settling in his stomach when he didn’t see the expected shock of green hair. Setting his bag down, he combed the library, checking each row and peering into the hidden corners. He did this two more times before he had to admit to himself that Jack wasn’t there.

Trudging back to the front of the library, he plunked down at the table he had left his bag on, staring into space with no motivation to actually work on anything. Or even really exist, but he couldn’t fade out of reality just because he wanted to.

A tap on his shoulder caused Bruce to turn sluggishly, the pain that shot through him from the brief contact with his injured skin not enough to motivate him to move any faster. He processed the fact that Harvey was standing above him, but made no move to greet him or even acknowledge his existence.

“Come on.” Harvey murmured, low enough that no one else would hear them. “We need to talk.” Grasping Bruce’s arm, he steered him out of the library, his own backpack slung over one shoulder, Bruce’s held in the opposite hand.

Once they were in the hall, Bruce expected him to speak, but Harvey resolutely headed for the theater, pulling out his phone and sending a text as he did so. Once they arrived, Bruce was guided to a chair and firmly pushed into it. He almost asked what was going on, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Harley and Pamela arrived shortly after, both dressed in gym clothes and looking vaguely concerned. One look at Bruce and Pamela’s worry melted into annoyance, but Harley shared an almost understanding look with him before sitting cross legged next to Pamela, their backs leaning against the wall.

“Crane’s on his way.” Harvey mumbled. “He’s not gonna like this.”

Jonathan showed up a moment later, looking the most harried and tense of everyone. He practically burst in, mouth opening as if to speak, before his eyes landed on Bruce and he clenched his jaw shut. Bruce stared back blearily as Jonathan approached him, stopping a few inches in front of his chair and studying him for a moment. He looked… different. Bruce couldn’t quite pin down what about him had changed, but an aura of danger radiated from him that hadn’t been there before. Or at least hadn’t been noticeable. Had Bruce not been in his current detached mindset, he would’ve been almost… afraid.

But as it was, he couldn’t be bothered to feel much of anything. 

“You. Absolute. Ass.” Jonathan finally hissed through clenched teeth bared in a snarl. Bruce realized the other student wasn’t wearing his glasses. It made his angular face all the more unnerving, letting the full force of his scrutiny, and right now, disgust, lang squarely on him. There was no barrier, no protection. Just waves of contempt that felt like needles digging under Bruce’s skin.

“What?” Bruce asked hoarsely, finding his voice at the same time his mind went blank.

“Jack’s gone missing.” Harvey supplied lowly. Tensely. He was no longer an ally. Not an enemy, perhaps, but Bruce knew he would find no support from him either. If Jonathan struck, or any of the other teens for that matter, Harvey wouldn’t stop them. Bruce didn’t get the feeling he’d join in, per say, but he suddenly understood why Harvey was here. A part of this group. As much of the smiling class president as he was, or pretended to be, he was also a… freak.

Jack’s words in the food court drifted through Bruce’s panicked mind like a tourist in a crime scene. The look in Harvey’s eyes erased any doubts he had over whether or not he was capable of arson. Or staying in a burning building as the flames licked off his skin. 

Two-Face.

Two sided.

Freak.

“Missing?” Bruce asked, but his voice didn’t go up at the end like he wanted it to. Instead the word pushed out flatly, like he was confirming the statement instead of doubting it. “Where did he go?”

“If we knew where he was he wouldn’t be missing, you cretin.” Pamela replied icily. Bruce hadn’t anticipated her speaking up, imagining her to be the one who liked Jack the least, but when he looked over, she wasn’t glaring at him like the others were, but watching Harley with an expression of worried exasperation. Harley, in turn, looked the sort of angry that pushed people close to tears.

“I mean… where would he even… how do you know he’s missing? Just cause he skipped class?” Bruce was desperately searching for a way the others could be wrong. Jack was pranking them, or he’d hidden somewhere, or he went home sick… he’d turn up soon, tomorrow at the latest, rolling his eyes at everyone’s worry and… and…

Apologizing? Forgiving him? Explaining his anger? Letting Bruce make amends?

None of that seemed likely.

 “He gave me his phone.” Harvey finally said. Quietly. Like he didn’t want to but had some sort of… obligation. “And his… other things.” He cleared his throat, staring at the floor. “All of them.” Harley let out a noise that could’ve been a swear had she not sobbed in the middle. The makeup around her eyes was smudging more with each passing moment.

“Fuck.” Jonathan snarled, finally stepping away from Bruce only to pace the room in the agitated manner of either a caged animal or a desperate man. Maybe they were the same thing.

“What…” Bruce felt helpless and stupid and guilty. He had no idea what was going on. The only thing he knew is that it was somehow all his fault. “What does that mean?” He asked plaintively, looking to Harvey for some sort of explanation.

“His parents…” Harvey began, then stopped himself. “I don’t…”

“Don’t you dare.” Harley gritted out. “Tell that… that… _breeder_ anything.”

“Harley…” Pamela wrapped her arms around the blonde girl who was practically shaking with pent up emotions at this point. Bruce’s confusion only grew. 

“Breeder?” Bruce repeated, a sinking feeling in his stomach coupled with the promise of a headache behind his eyes. No one replied. Harvey stared at the floor. Jonathan had given up pacing and was leaning against the wall with his palms pressed against his eyes. Harley was pressing her face into Pamela’s shirt, leaving smears of eyeliner in her wake as the redhead gently stroked her hair.

 “For fucks sake!” Bruce exploded. “Would you all quit acting like the goddamn world is ending and just tell me what the fuck is going on!” He stood, sending his chair screeching backwards and clenching his fists like he was ready to fight. The headache building made itself known, only increasing his irritability. “I get you’re a fucking cult and I’m an outsider and I fucked up somehow and now Jack’s gone…” His voice broke slightly, but he shoved on. “But if you just brought me here as an effigy to burn?” Bruce glanced at Harvey who gave the barest indication of guilt, his features twitching slightly before he resettled his mask in place. “Then **_fuck you_ ** _._ I’m not some kind of scapegoat and whether or not you like it, I’m a part of this, and I at _least_ deserve an explanation.”

His outburst was met with fragile silence. He had made his point, but that didn’t mean anyone wanted to fess up.

“You’ve seen where he lives.” Jonathan finally spoke, still leaning against the wall, the stage lights hitting his features in a way that made him look skeletal. Or maybe it was just… illuminating. Bruce couldn’t tell. The headache was roaring in his ears and everything seemed too bright. He wanted darkness. Shadows. Safety. Some goddamn peace for once in his miserable life.

“Yeah. And?” Bruce growled defensively, a bit annoyed that Jack had apparently told Jonathan about their… trip? _Date_? A rebellious part of his mind supplied, and was immediately squashed.

Jonathan laughed. It wasn’t hollow or bitter, just… tired. The vestiges of cynicism clinging to it like a spider web on an old picture frame. “Step outside of your bubble for just a second, Wayne. I know it’s hard but for the love of god, try.” He fixed his gaze resolutely on Bruce, hands in his pockets glasses still missing, eyes still uncomfortably bright. “You’ve seen where he lives, you’ve seen his behavior, how he feels about money and favors and trust. You’ve seen his scars.” Jonathan lowered his eyes for a moment, face twisting with unnamed emotions. “At least some of them.”

“You’re saying his parents abuse him.” Bruce frowned. “What does that have to d-”

“This is what I meant by bubble.” Jonathan interrupted him sharply. “If you can’t draw your own conclusions…. Yes. His father’s an alcoholic in the archetypal sense. His mother’s not terribly upstanding either, but she’d rather spend her time securing her own well-being than destroying Jack’s.”

“If his dad’s hitting him why doesn’t he-” Bruce began.

“Call the police?” Harvey supplied with a knowing but razored smile. “Wouldn’t do any good. His father’s under the protection of the mob. They own most of the cops in Gotham.”

“Then find one they don’t own. Or… CPS. Or the school!” Bruce was furiously angered by the blase attitude shown by those he had assumed to be Jack’s friends. “If you all know what’s going on, if his dad’s leaving bruises, that’s proof-”

“He’s here on a scholarship.” Harley spoke up, voice wavering. “He… uh… his grades… he won some academic thing… a grant or whatever….” She sniffed. “He explained the whole thing to me once but I… I don’t listen so good…” Trailing off she pressed her face back into Pamela’s shoulder.

Bruce stopped for a moment, realizing he’d never really considered how Jack managed to attend Gotham High. He never thought about tuition at all, really. He knew, of course, that Gotham High wasn’t quite a public school, but there were no uniforms, no privatized feel to the place. Bruce’s father had wanted him to attend Gotham High instead of shipping him off to a prestigious boarding school for the sole reason that it was… well… normal. Almost. 

He knew there were some students there on scholarships, hell, there was a Wayne grant paying for a handful of their educations, but he also knew those kids didn’t like to talk about it. It singled them out.

Maybe that was why he never pinned Jack as that type. He didn’t seem to mind being singled out. Despite his living situation practically confirming he was low income enough to need a scholarship to attend Gotham High, he had never brought it up outright, and so Bruce hadn’t spared it any thought.

“If CPS or the school gets involved, if he actually is removed from his home and placed into foster care, it’s likely he’d be moved somewhere else. Another school. Worse than this one.” Jonathan explained. “And that’s only _if_ there’s enough evidence against his dad. Only _if_ he managed to find the one good cop in Gotham. Only _if_ CPS doesn’t fuck him over, or drag out the investigation, or run out of resources and options. If his dad doesn’t find out what he’s planning and skip town. Or if he tracks him down and makes sure he doesn’t talk. Or one of his asshole friends does it, or a mobster who wants to protect his interests. Or he ends up in a foster home that’s just as bad, or worse. Or he ages out of CPS and ends up homeless.” Jonathan forcibly stopped himself from continuing, swallowing his words with near audible grating noise. 

“The mob really gives a shit about some drunkard?” Bruce felt tendrils of utter despair sneaking through him. He did his best to stomp on them brutally, ensuring they went no further, but it felt akin to fighting a hydra.

“He’s a supplier.” Harley muttered. “‘S funny, really.” She forced out a weak hiccoughing laugh. “He, uh… makes enough speed to fuck up Gotham but he… he just drinks.”

“He’s a meth dealer?” Bruce’s voice went slightly hysterical. “And you all know this?!” 

“Before you ask: we don’t report him for drugs for the same goddamn reasons we don’t report him for beating Jack.” Pamela supplied flatly.

“Does…” Bruce began, then stopped himself. Should he ask? Did he really want to know? “Did Jack…” He began again, trailing off when he found himself unsure of what to say.

“Jack’s not a dealer or a user.” Harvey supplied, causing a sigh of relief to escape Bruce. He relaxed for a moment before the awful reality of why they were here in the first place came barreling back.

“If he’s gone missing does that mean his dad… did something?” Bruce felt vaguely nauseous at the thought.

“No.” Harvey shook his head. “At least… not in this context.”

“Then where…”

“We don’t know.” Jonathan flatley reminded him. “But if he gave his things to Dent then he’s not planning on coming back for a while." 

“Why wouldn’t he take his phone with him?” Bruce asked. “What if he needs help?”

Harley laughed, stronger than before. Angrier. “J don’t need help.” She spat. “And he left his phone with Harv cause he don’t wanna be tracked. Or he can’t take it where he’s goin.”

Pamela rolled her eyes, but said nothing, more focues on keeping Harley calm than addressing Jack’s paranoia. Harley was sitting up, somewhat contained, but she was gripping Pamela’s hand tightly, almost white knuckled, like letting go of her meant letting go of everything. She chewed her lip, face paler than usual, eyes wild and darting. She appeared to be frayed at the edges, unhinged rather than her usual bubbly but crazed persona. The wild smears of eyeliner and lipstick across her skin didn’t help. At this point her makeup more resembled war paint. Shrapnel.

“And I’m guessin the other stuff he gave ya is knives and junk?” Harvey nodded in confirmation. “Right. Well.” She tossed her hands up briefly as if this explained everything. “If he left it at his house his parents’d take it. But he wouldn’ go off somewhere without his knives or somethin if he needed protection so… so…” A tremor ran through her and her voice shrank, regressing to that of a scared child’s. “He’s either… he’s either somewhere safe or… or… he’s dead.”

Bruce felt a pain worse than that of his bleeding knuckles, scraped up back, and still forming bruises from the fight combined, like he had been punched in the stomach, no, _through_ his stomach, through his body, ripping out his lungs and heart and how in god’s name had it only been _yesterday_ that he had been made aware of Jack’s existence when it felt like life without the green haired boy wasn’t one worth living?

 _Don’t be dramatic._ A nasty voice hissed in his mind. _Even if he is dead, you’ll forget him eventually. Move on. And if he’s not? You’ll still forget him. Move on. He’s not like you. You’re not like him. What did you expect, anyway? Keeping in touch when you go off to college? Being_ **_pen pals_ ** _? Like you’ll have time for him when you’re running your daddy’s business. Like he’ll have time for_ **_you_ ** _when he’s running_ **_his_ ** _daddy’s business. You’ll see him in five years, either at your high school reunion or on the_ **_nightly news_ ** _in_ **_handcuffs_ ** _with some cop’s boot on his_ **_neck_ ** _-_  

“Dead.” Bruce’s voice was completely calm. He was completely calm. Face blank, pulse steady, breath even. He sat down in a slow but fluid motion, back resting comfortably against the chair, his posture straight but relaxed. “How so?”

Pamela was watching him closely, scrutinizing him with something like concern. Jonathan looked murderous. Harley looked offended. Bruce didn’t care. Harvey, though… he looked like he understood.

“Jack tried to kill himself in tenth grade.” Pamela was the one who finally spoke, her voice tinged with sympathy. No, not sympathy. Regret. No, not regret. Guilt. No… not guilt… just… pain.

Sometimes it hurts to remember.

“How?” Bruce repeated after a pause.

“Jumping off a bridge.” Jonathan snapped. “Why the hell does it matter?”

“Because I want to know where to look.” Bruce stood up with the same strange fluidity he had sat down with, a sense of purpose, tinged with panic, cutting through the fog. “What bridge?”

“There’s one near his house. An overpass.” Harvey supplied with a frown. “But he won’t try that again.” 

“Why? What happened?” Bruce felt pent up. He needed to go somewhere. Do something. He pictured driving to Jack’s house, kicking down Jack’s door and grabbing his father by the neck, giving him a taste of his own medicine, and worse, so he’d never hurt Jack again. 

But then what? Find the boy? Rescue him? That would be hard. Maybe impossible. It was nice to imagine, though. In Bruce’s mind was the image of Jack huddled in an alley somewhere, purple hood covering his green hair as he folded in on himself in an attempt to stay warm. Bruce would find him, take off his coat, wrap it around his shoulders, and Jack would accept it, no complaints, no protests, no offering to trade, just a grateful acknowledgement of the warmth and help Bruce was offering.

And yeah, he’d take him home. It _was_ his home. He was 18, after all, he could do what he wanted. Right? So he’d drive Jack home and explain things to Alfred, and maybe the man wouldn’t argue with him, maybe he’d see it as continuing his father’s legacy of charity work and good will towards men. And maybe, after Jack had showered and changed, they could eat dinner together. And maybe Jack wouldn’t be his usual brash and offensive self. Maybe he’d actually get along with Alfred. Maybe they’d clear the dishes together and then go up to Bruce’s room to watch TV. Maybe Jack would fall asleep in the middle of a commercial break. Maybe Bruce wouldn’t wake him up but- 

The doors banged open, interrupting Bruce’s ridiculous fantasy and revealing an out of breath and slightly disheveled Edward Nygma.

“Jesus, Eddie, it took you long enough.” Pamela sighed. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Computer lab.” He panted. “Doing… research.” Holding up his hand to stop any further questions, he took a slow, deep breath before straightening. “I know where Jack is.”

Bruce felt dizzy, mouth opening without any sound coming out as Harley launched herself at Edward and hugged him, squealing happily. Pamela muttered something and put her head in her hands tiredly. Jonathan and Harvey shared a concerned look.

“Where is he?” Harvey asked, more than a little impatience coloring his words.

Edward detached himself from Harley, more disheveled than before, and cleared his throat.

“Well… that’s the thing…”

“Spit. It. Out.” Jonathan hissed threateningly and Bruce couldn’t help but agree.

“Arkham.” Edward said quietly. “He’s back in Arkham.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went there. D:
> 
> Comments are ALWAYS appreciated and they keep me motivated to write! (even if they're criticisms... as long as they're constructive)


	9. Crazy Insane or Insane Crazy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (back)STORY TIME! Bruce struggles! Mental illnesses! Career paths! And much much more! (Not actually that much more)

There wasn’t even a moment of silence as the news sunk in. Instead, Jonathan drew himself up, nodding sharply and turning to Bruce.

“Alright then.” He said crisply. “Wayne, get your keys. You’re driving us to Arkham. Harley.” He addressed the blonde without turning, but she cut him off.

“Waaay ahead of ya.” She had her phone out, dialing a number and holding it to her ear.

“Wait…” Pamela held up her hands in a ‘slow down’ gesture but she was ignored.

“Harvey, think you can cover us?” Jonathan asked. “Or does Nygma need to visit the tech department.”

“I almost got caught last time.” Edward grumbled. “Just forge a pass!”

“Jack was the only one who…” Harvey began but stopped himself. “No forgery or hacking needed. I’ll just talk to Mrs. Collins. Tell her we’re all talking about our feelings or something so we can’t be in class.” He looked around for a moment, locking eyes with Bruce and nodding slowly. “Tell him…” He ran a hand through his hair tiredly. “Tell him that he’ll never get another Red-bull again unless he gets better.” With that he left, shoulders squared, not looking back.

“Heya Auntie!” Harley chirped into her phone, the other person having apparently answered. “I know this is kinda last minute but do you think you could give me ‘n’ my friends a tour?” She glanced at Jonathan, mouthing ‘how long?’ Jonathan glanced at Bruce before holding up one finger. “Yeah in like an hour and a half. Maybe two. Nah it’s for this project.” She frowned and pressed a finger to her ear and walked out the door, still talking. “Why not?”

“God damnit.” Pamela muttered, getting up to follow her. “I’m grabbing our stuff from the locker room.” She called over her shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“I need my things too.” Edward turned to leave. “Meet you by door 14 in twenty minutes. If my lungs don’t collapse before then.” He left through the same door Harley did, footsteps speeding up as they faded.

“We’re going to Arkham?” Bruce asked, stupefied.

“Yes.” Jonathan grabbed Bruce’s backpack and motioned for the other to follow. Having little choice in the matter, Bruce trailed after him as they went down a back hallway and out a door that led to an unused part of the parking lot.

“Will they even let us in?” Bruce asked helplessly.

“Harley’s aunt works there.” Jonathan set down Bruce’s bag, unzipping the top and going through it until he found his keys. “Well… her family member. She’s not her aunt, per say. Second cousin twice removed on her father’s side or something like that. She let us in to see Jack last time.”

“She thinks it’s for a project, though.” Bruce protested as Jonathan tossed him his own keys. “How can we talk to him if we’re just-”

“She knows.” Jonathan zipped up Bruce’s bag and slung it over his shoulder. “But all phone conversations are monitored so Harley can’t say why we need to get in.”

“What if we get caught?” Bruce felt everything slipping out of control, imagining Alfred’s reaction to him getting arrested, the tabloids going nuts over the Wanye boy going to jail for breaking into a loony bin, Jack and the others dragged into the spotlight unwillingly.

Jonathan glared at him, still holding his bag. “If you’re not willing to come with us, fine.” He tossed the backpack by Bruce’s feet, harder than was strictly necessary. “But don’t try to stop us.” His hand slipped into his pocket with a bit too much purpose to be written off as casual. Bruce’s eyes fixed on the small patch of skin visible between the dark fabric of Jonathan’s pants and the cuff of his shirt. “If we’re reported, we’ll know it was you.” He finished lowly, his voice changing to something rougher. If Bruce wasn’t mistaken, he had shown traces of a southern accent. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to go with them, but he was certain that he didn’t want to find out what was in Jonathan’s pocket.

“I just… I’m not used to this.” Bruce admitted slowly, pressing his hands against his face and trying to ground himself.

“Well get used to it.” Jonathan replied curtly, entirely unsympathetic in tone, vestiges of his accent still clinging to his words. “Things like this happen to Jack all the time. If you want to be around him, live in his world…” He paused. “Our world.” Jonathan said, emphasizing ‘our’ like he was reminding Bruce how much he didn’t belong. “You’ve got to accept the fact that things will be crazy.”

Bruce crossed his arms, gripping them tightly like he was holding himself together. A dim part of him realized he wasn’t feeling any pain for the first time all day.

“How did he end up in Arkham last time?” Bruce asked cautiously. “The bridge near his house… when he tried to…” He couldn’t say it. “What happened?”

Jonathan took a deep breath. “The cops showed up and arrested him.” He supplied flatly, the accent gone, though Bruce could see that it took effort to suppress.

“Arrested him? For what? Standing on a bridge?”

“They charged him with disorderly conduct. And resisting arrest.” Jonathan’s lips twitched, almost like he was suppressing the urge to grin. “And assaulting a police officer…” Bruce stared at him in disbelief. “He didn’t exactly go quietly.” Jonathan shrugged, dryly chuckling in that detached and strained way that held no humor. “He was 16 and they almost tried him as an adult… but he was lucky. The judge declared it temporary insanity and sent him to the highest level psych ward in Gotham.”

“Because he tried to kill himself?!” Bruce was outraged. This whole thing sounded ridiculous, but there was no way Jonathan was lying.

“Because they knew his father.” Jonathan replied bitterly. “Because they couldn’t touch him but they could sure as hell punish his son. He’s lucky he didn’t end up in Blackgate Prison. At least Arkham doesn’t come with a record.”

“That’s…” Bruce trailed off, at a loss for words. “Horrible.” He finally said, too quiet for anyone but himself to hear.

Jonathan wasn’t listening anyway. Instead he was staring out across the parking lot, a distant look on his face. “We all…” He stopped himself and frowned. “Harvey wanted to be a politician until Jack was arrested. After sitting through the court case he decided to become a lawyer. He’s already taking online courses.” Bruce nodded slowly. “We went to visit him as soon as we were allowed.” Jonathan’s face twisted at the memory. “He looked terrible. They had him on medication and he… didn’t want it. But he had no choice. If he didn’t take the pills they’d cram them down his throat. Harley started crying as soon as she saw him. He could barely string a sentence together and everything about him was… flat. He looked like a puppet. A corpse that was only walking around because it didn’t know it was dead.”

Bruce couldn’t imagine Jack like that. Didn’t want to. He felt vaguely nauseous at the mere notion.

“Seeing him like that… as much as Ivy hates him, she hated the people who did that to him more. Every time we went to see him she’d argue with his doctor about the meds he was on. Almost got us kicked out a few times. She’s always been interested in plants but now it’s taken a turn towards herbal remedies. Holistic medicine. Not “crystals cure epilepsy” or anti-vax type practices, but she’s motivated to shift medicine away from 20 pill regimens with side effects worse than the diseases they treat.” Taking his glasses out from his shirt pocket, he polished them with his shirt sleeve. “Harley began talking about becoming a psychiatrist. She seems to think that talk therapy is all anyone needs.” Jonathan chuckled.

“As for me… I had always assumed I would pursue a career in medical research. Perhaps working at a university, teaching the occasional class.” His glasses were clean but he continued to polish them. “Jack and I were dating when he was committed. After 4 weeks or so, when I called him, as I did most days, he was acting strangely. I asked him what was wrong and he told me he needed to break up with me.” He slid his glasses on carefully. “Then he hung up.” Jonathan smiled tightly. “It came to light that his doctors had convinced him that he needed to focus on getting better, and the energy it took for him to maintain a romantic relationship was detracting from his recovery.” His glasses caught the sunlight, flashing sharply and hiding his eyes for a brief moment. “It was personal. None of them liked me very much.”

Bruce said nothing. Part of him agreed with the doctors. It was a nasty part, but it was there.

“I decided to become a doctor with a specialty in classical conditioning. Ways the mind can be… twisted. Manipulated. How the psyche is a fragile thing. Memories subjective and unreliable.” He met Bruce’s eyes. “We would still be together if they hadn’t played with his emotions.”

“But he got out.” Bruce said flatly. “Are you saying he’s still convinced they were right?” His stomach twinged. “Is he still… he’d not on meds, is he?”

Jonathan shook his head. “He knows they messed with his head. But the damage was done. When he broke up with me… I didn’t take it well. There was no taking back the things I said.” He muttered sharply. “When he got out, he started seeing a counselor. Switched meds.”

“So he is on meds.” Bruce frowned. “Why? Jack isn’t crazy.” Jonathan gave him a skeptical look and he hastily continued. “Not really. I mean… it’s all an act, right? He’s just… joking.”

“Just because he’s joking doesn’t mean he’s not crazy.” Jonathan laughed. “Quite the opposite, really.”

That stunned Bruce enough that he couldn’t find a response, staring at Jonathan in uneasy silence until the door banged open.

“Alright!” Harley appeared, having changed back into her normal clothes along with Pamela, who was following close behind her and scowling. “Where’s the lambo?”

“Pretty boy probably lost his nerve.” Pamela muttered. Jonathan turned and glanced at Bruce expectantly.

“Well?” He prompted.

Edward appeared, rifling through his backpack, oblivious to the tension permeating the air. “I got duct tape and ziploc baggies so we can sneak stuff in for Jack.” He looked up, frowning. “Uh… we should probably get going.”

Bruce hesitated before gripping his keys tightly. “Yeah. We should.” He grabbed his own backpack and motioned for the others to follow. “I’m parked over here.”

Harley whooped. “Alright playboy! Way to come through!” Pamela rolled her eyes, giving him a skeptical yet approving look, mirrored by Jonathan.

“Shotgun.” He said breezily, prompting a sigh from Edward.

“You’re sticking me in the back with these two?” Nygma gestured to Harley and Pamela. Jonathan didn’t reply, casting a smirk over his shoulder.

Bruce couldn’t help but grin. Strangely enough, he felt more at ease now, preparing to skip school and break the law, than he had this morning when nothing of the sort had been anywhere on his mind.

 _Get used to it._ Bruce unlocked his car, letting everyone toss their stuff in the trunk and pile inside. _Okay._ He got in the driver’s side and turned the ignition. _I will._

 


	10. Divine Comedy, Mortal Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ROAD TRIP, ROAD TRIP, ROAD TRIP!
> 
> (any Riddler fans out there? here you go)

Edward’s phone said Arkham was an hour and a half away, but Jonathan assured Bruce that they’d make it in 45 minutes.

“It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Traffic will be light.” He said breezily.

“Feel free to break the speed limit.” Edward piped up from the back. “I’ll warn you if there are cops ahead.”

Bruce glanced in the rearview mirror, catching sight of Pamela directly behind him, Harley to her right, and Edward on the far side, tapping away on his phone.

“You know where cops are?” He asked skeptically, though he really shouldn’t have been, given the fact that nothing seemed unlikely, much less impossible, when it came to his new friends.

_Are they friends?_

“Of course.” Edward looked slightly offended.

“Yeah, Wayne.” Harley pipped up, exaggerating Edward’s annoyed look. “Don’ cha know? Eddie here knows _everything_.”

Bruce chuckled softly as Edward’s expression turned from peeved to exasperated.

“I never claimed to know _everything_.” He argued. “I know _a lot_ but it’s impossible to know _everything_.”

“But you know where cops are.” Bruce repeated.

“Yes.” Edward huffed. “I made a program that monitors their location based on reported crimes, sightings, traffic cams, and scanner chatter.”

“That sounds complicated. Why don’t you just track their GPS?” Pamela asked impishly.

“Because that’s illegal.” Edward snapped.

“Isn’t listening to police scanners illegal too?” Bruce frowned.

“In Gotham, yes. If it’s a mobile scanner and you don’t have a license, you’re breaking the law.” Edward paused, taking in the others’ blank faces before sighing. “But I’m not _listening_ to a mobile scanner, nor am I using one. My program just processes the audiowaves from _other people’s_ illegal police scanners. I’m not even on the same frequency as the cops.”

“Wow. Really?” Bruce was impressed. “How are you still in highschool? Shouldn’t you be working for, like… NASA or something?”

“First off, I don’t want to work for NASA. I have little interest in space.” Edward listed off impertinently. “Second, you have to be 15 to take the GED in Gotham. Third, a GED is not the same as a highschool diploma, and fourth, despite the fact that there is no official limit on the amount of grades you can skip, they usually cap it off at every other year.”

“Wait.” Bruce’s focus on the road wavered as he turned around to fully look at Edward. “You’re a senior.”

 Edward arched an eyebrow, looking up from his phone long enough to meet Bruce’s eyes. “I’m glad you’ve noticed seeing as I’m in your Chemistry class.” 

“Right, but…” He broke eye contact to look back at the road. “You said you have to be 15 to take the GED…” 

“I turned 14 this September.” Edward interrupted him.

“You’re 14?!” Bruce exclaimed, glancing in the mirror and reevaluating his assessment of him. He had assumed Edward to be small for his age, underfed and sickly looking for an 18 year old,  but apparently he was just… young.

“And 2 months.” Edward sniffed as Jonathan tried to hide his laughter.

“What grades did you skip?”

Sighing deeply, Edward glanced upwards, either trying to remember, or praying for self-control. “I started first grade the year I turned 7. I could’ve started much earlier, or skipped it all together, but my parents decided to wait a year, mostly because I didn’t talk much or socialize with my “peers.” They failed to ask me about it, of course, nor did they recognize the fact that there aren’t many opportunities to express intelligence in Kindergarten. Halfway through the year I was moved to a second grade class with children my age. In third grade I was moved into an accelerated learning program called “Gifted and Talented”, GT for short, though it was later changed to “Accelerated Academics” because the normal kids’ feelings were hurt.” He scoffed.

“I spent that entire year begging the administration to let me skip the rest of elementary school but they were hesitant because I had already been held back. They didn’t want to move further and risk having to hold me back once more. Next year I was allowed to skip 4th grade due to my standardized test score. That’s when the bullying started. Pre-pubescent little 5th graders didn’t like a 9 year old being smarter than them.” Edward remarked bitterly. “I couldn’t complain, though, or they’d use it as proof that I wasn’t ready… My silence paid off when they placed me in 7th grade classes to ‘see how things went’” He used air quotes with his right hand, his left still tapping his phone. “I was a 10 year old amongst 13 year olds. Three years doesn’t seem that long but trust me, it makes a world of difference.”

“I can imagine… I was a completely different person when I was 10 versus when I was 13.” Bruce shook his head slowly.

“We all were.” Harley said quietly. Edward either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her comment, continuing his story without missing a beat.

“They made me go through both 7th and 8th grade in their entirety. There was even talk of holding me back in 8th grade because of my age.” He shuddered visibly at the thought. “Ninth grade too. They let me skip tenth grade and go to 11th but I’m graduating on schedule with your class.” His tone made it seem like this was the worst tragedy to befall the human people.

“You’re going to college at 15?” Bruce marveled.

“I’ve already received a scholarship to Princeton.” Edward grinned. “I’m just killing time until graduation.”

“Your GPA must be insane.” Bruce was holding a steady 3.0, nothing to be boast about, but nothing to gain any unwanted attention from concerned teachers. Scraping by. Under the radar. Just how he liked it.

“I’ve got a 5.0.” Edward boasted, and Bruce laughed before he realized the boy wasn’t joking. 

“How is that even possible? I thought a 4.0 was the highest!”

“Unweighted, yeah.” Edward smirked, an expression of pride that Bruce didn’t think possible for someone so small. “But I’ve taken every available AP course and gotten 100s on every assignment, test, quiz, and project since my teachers stopped using stickers.”

“Why are you in my chemistry class? It’s not AP.” Bruce pointed out.

 “Same reason I’m in it.” Jonathan informed him evenly. “Jack.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” He muttered tersely, his previously humorous mood soured by the recollection of their current mission.

“We already took and aced every AP science class available.” Edward piped up. “So we took that class so we’d have the same schedule as Jack.” 

“You’re not in his theater class.” Bruce countered.

“We’re not in his math class either.” Jonathan turned and fixed Bruce with a look that made him think the other boy knew exactly why he was being difficult. “We don’t share the exact same classes, but our schedules overlap enough that we always have the same lunch period so we can eat together.”

“I’m in his math class with Bane.” Harley pipped up. “And me and Pammy both take Spanish with him.” 

“The teacher put us in the back row.” Pamela snorted. “Like a gay ghetto.”

“I’m in English with you two as well.” Jonathan gave Bruce a teasing look. “Though I assume you didn’t notice me, seeing as you spend class either staring at your desk or staring at Jack.”

Bruce’s ears turned red but he kept a straight face, not bothering to reply. Jonathan was right, anyway. Bruce hadn’t noticed his presence, or anyone else’s for that matter. He could only name a handful of people his classes, and most of them were in the car with him right now. For some reason, a pit formed in his stomach at the thought that Jack had become so central in his life in a day and a half, and now he risked losing him… if not forever, than a few months.

A few months… that seemed far too long.

“What’s the plan when we get there?” He abruptly asked.

“My aunt’ll be waiting for us. She’ll escort us in. We gotta go through metal detectors 'n stuff so leave any weapons or shit in the car.” Harley advised. Bruce’s eyes widened slightly, not owning any “weapons” himself, but a second later he remembered the company that Harley usually kept. It wasn’t strange for the girl to assume he carried some form of protection on him given the fact that most of the others likely did.

“And then we see Jack?” Bruce said impatiently.

“She’ll take us to a visitor’s room an’ turn off the cameras and then go get him and bring him to us, yeah.”

“How long will we have to talk?”

“Depends.” Harley shrugged. “An hour, maybe. More if we’re lucky, but they do like… bed checks and scheduled stuff so it could be shorter.”

“Okay.” Bruce nodded. “So how are we gonna get him out?”

His question was met with silence, tense and wavering.

“What?” He frowned, glancing at Jonathan who looked uncomfortable, an expression that appeared unnatural on his usually cold and confident features.

“We can’t just get him out.” Pamela finally answered tiredly.

“Especially not if he needs to be in there.” Jonathan muttered.

“Needs to be… you told me Arkham was a hell hole!” Bruce’s voice broke slightly, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

“It was.” Jonathan crossed his arms. “It _is_. But Jack was… Jack is…”

“Suicidal.” Pamela supplied. “Prone to destructive behavior both towards others and himself. A kleptomaniac, pyromaniac, and generally manic in his disposition. Diagnosed with enough disorders to fill the alphabet with enough left over for a short story.”

“So we’re just going to leave him in there to rot?” Bruce yelled.

“Arkham is basically a prison, Bruce.” Edward sounded annoyed but sympathetic. Bruce didn’t like hearing either emotion. “Even if he wanted to leave… he might not be able to.”

“That’s bullshit.” Bruce growled. “And I refuse to accept that.”

“What are you gonna do, buy the hospital?” Harley quipped.

“If I have to.” He shot back. “Sure.”

Silence fell on the car again, and this time, it prevailed. They drove enveloped in it’s icy grasp, made worse when they finally caught sight of a grey, sprawling, and monstrous building atop a hill. A twisting road with cracked pavement led up to it. At the bottom, a wrought iron arch spelled out “Arkham Asylum” in warped and rusted letters. Bruce eased the car to a stop in front of it,

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.” Jonathan said quietly, but with surprising conviction.

“Way to be creepy, Crane.” Edward muttered.

“What’s that even mean?” Harley looked paler than usual, staring at the gates with a nauseous look.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” Bruce supplied. Jonathan looked suitably impressed. “From Dante’s Inferno. It’s the inscription on the gates of Hell.” And with that he pressed on the gas, driving through the gates with the feeling that, inscription or no, hope had indeed been left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the story? Want more? LET ME KNOW!!!
> 
> Kudos inflate Nygma's ego. Comments feed his snark.


	11. Belly of the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ??? Drama,,,

There were hardly any cars in the parking lot, so finding a space was easy. Bruce felt out of place, a sore thumb, a wild animal in the middle of the city… it made him feel vulnerable. The others seemed subdued as well, particularly Harley, who was clinging to Pamela like she was the only thing preventing her from sprinting away. Glancing at the motley crew as he walked in, Bruce wished they looked less… suspicious.

Jonathan was unassuming, as usual, in his muted button down and dark jeans, but Bruce was underdressed in just a tshirt. Edward was… somewhat presentable, though his tie was a particularly loud shade of green, and Bruce was of the opinion that a child in a tie looked more suspicious than a child in a tshirt, but maybe that was just him. Pamela’s shorts and tank top ensemble looked fine in the halls of Gotham High but in the shadow of the asylum, it looked as out of place as a zebra in a shopping mall.

Finally, there was Harley. With dyed hair, wild makeup, and a pastel-meets-grunge sense of style, Bruce expected her to be the one who stuck out the worst, but strangely enough, she seemed the most at-home. Not in demeanor, no. She looked terrified. But as they climbed the steps to the imposing front doors, she looked like she belonged there somehow.

The outside of the asylum made Bruce think of the photos he’d seen of old castles turned into prisons. There were bars on the windows that sprawled across the worn stone face, ivy crawling up the walls like the earth was trying to break the building into rubble. It more resembled a church, or a haunted mansion than a mental hospital.

When they passed through the doors, they entered an eerily silent and sterile lobby. A security guard sat behind a desk, eyes flicking up to take them in with lazy suspicion. The place smelled like bleach and antiseptic on top of a mildewey smell Bruce felt the building had acquired long ago and now refused to relinquish.

A woman with silvery blonde hair in a lab coat appeared, walking towards them determinedly.

“Harleen.” She smiled, gathering Harley into a hug. Bruce was slightly confused before he realized that her real name must not be Harley. “How are you?”

“I’m doin’ pretty well.” Harley replied “Thanks for helping out with our school project.”

“My pleasure. Arkham prides itself on having open doors.” The woman pulled back and smiled, a gesture that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suppose these are costumes, hm?” She gestured to their outfits, raising her voice slightly so it carried around the lobby. Bruce glanced at Jonathan quizzically.

“That’s correct.” Edward piped up when no one else spoke. “Har…leen said we were allowed to take pictures? Just of ourselves, of course.”

“Of course.” The woman nodded. “I’ll show you around and then take you to some rooms not in use so you can have your little photoshoot.” Continuing to smile, she gestured for them to follow her, walking past the security guards with a confident wave. They glanced at the group as they filed by, but only for a moment. Once they were out of sight, Bruce let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

They approached a set of grey doors with small windows in the center of them. There were bars over both windows, and wire criss-crossing the glass. Holding out her hand, they woman motioned for them to stop before pulling out an ID badge and turning to a keypad on the wall. She swiped the badge through and punched in a code. There was a jarring buzz and a loud clunk as the door unlocked. She grasped one of the handles and pulled it open, ushering them all through.

Bruce was the last one inside, the woman following close behind before shutting the door with a final-sounding thud.

“I’ve disconnected the cameras in an unused therapy room. Jack’s already there.” She murmured lowly. “I’m not sure how long you’ll have, but you’ll have privacy at the very least.”

“Thank you.” Bruce blurted, mostly because he felt he had to say _something_. “For… this.”

She turned to look at him as if noticing him for the first time. Her eyes ran over him, scrutinizing him closely. He tried not to squirm

“You’re new.” She finally decided.

“Yeah.” Bruce felt awkward, unsure of what to say. “Yeah.” He repeated lamely.

“How do you know Jack?” She folded her arms, a slight crease appearing in between her eyebrows.

“I… we have classes together.” Bruce swallowed thickly. “We’re… friends.”

Nodding sharply, she turned, and Bruce noticed how _tired_ she looked for the first time, the harsh fluorescent lights casting the lines on her face and the shadows under her eyes into sharp relief.  

“I’m glad to hear it.” She added after a moment. “Jack needs all the friends he can get.”

Clearing her throat, she set a swift pace forward, leading the group through the halls with a practiced gait.

Further into the asylum.

None of them looked back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are appreciated, comments are lauded over.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @murdereratthematinee for updates about this fic along with character moodboards, art, and photoedits!


	12. Disruption, Corruption, Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... you should've seen this coming...

Harley was the first one to enter the room, and Bruce, in the back of the group, could hear her squeal "PUDDIN!" well before he followed.

Once he made it inside, he first took in the depressingly grey walls and concrete floor, along with the single metal chair and table, both bolted to the floor before his gaze landed on Harley who was currently enveloping Jack in what looked to be a very tight, and very unwelcome hug.

"I'll give you some privacy then." The doctor, who's name Bruce suddenly realized he didn't know, said. "I'll be back in... well... possibly an hour. Maybe more, maybe less. Use your time well." She left without another glance, shutting the door behind her.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Harley sniffed. "We were all so worried an' you gave Harvey your phone an' I thought you were gonna..." She had buried her face in Jack's shoulder, and was apparently crying into it. Jack looked tense, almost angry, arms stiffly at his sides, hands clenched in fists.

"Harley." He gritted out. "Get. Off."

Bruce noticed that he was wearing a shirt and pants that matched the grey of the walls and floor. It washed him out, making him look even paler than normal, and making his vibrant green hair stand out even further.

Harley pulled back, but only slightly, arms still wrapped around Jack's neck. Bruce sensed something... off about the whole thing. Sure, the situation was a tense one to begin with, but Jack seemed... different?

Bruce realized with a start that the look in Jack's eyes was the same one he'd had just before spitting in the face of the bully he'd encountered earlier that day.

Had it really been just that day? It seemed like eons ago.

But yes, it had to be. Bruce's back still ached from last night's encounter with the treadmill, his body sore from both the workout and the fight he'd gotten in today. Looking closer, he noticed a few bruises dotting Jack's arms, and he hoped they were from the fight too, and not anything, or anyone, in the asylum.

"Why'd'ya come here, J? What happened?" Harley asked, voice still watery and scared.

"None of your business." Jack growled. "Now get. Off."

Harley seemed to hear him the second time, and pulled her arms away, taking a hesitant step back.

"But... puddin..." She began hesitantly.

To say it all happened in a flash would be an understatement.

Bruce didn't even see Jack move. He just saw the boy's face twist into a snarl, heard something dull and harsh resound through the room, and when he next processed anything happening, Harley was on the floor, clutching her face, and a silence assaulted his ears, the second worst he'd ever experienced, beaten only by the one that had followed the two gunshots that had ripped his life apart.

No one moved. No one could. They didn't even exist. Nothing did. Nothing but him, and Jack, and that single metal chair, bolted to the floor.

They locked eyes because they were the only things in the universe to look at. Each other. Alone in infinity.

"You shouldn't have come." Jack said, but his lips didn't move. Or maybe they did, but not to Bruce's eyes.

All he could see was a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr @murdereratthematinee for more fanfic and batjokes related stuff! Also art! 
> 
> Kudos make me smile, comments make me write faster!


	13. His Life Was A Wager And Mine's A Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True! -nervous -very, very dreadfully nervous he had been and is; but will you say that he is mad?

“YOU BASTARD!”

Bruce heard the screech from over his right shoulder, turning just in time to see a reddish blur lunge past him, aimed for Jack. His reflexes kicked in, arms shooting out to wrap around Pamela’s waist, holding her back even as she squirmed and scrabbled in an effort to free herself. She clawed at his arm, but thankfully her nails were trimmed rather short, so Bruce was spared having his skin peeled off. 

“YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” She spat, managing to kick Bruce in the shins and drive her elbow into his side hard enough that the breath whooshed out of him, but he steadfastly refused to let go of her.

“Ivy.” Jonathan said quietly from where he was crouched by Harley, who was slowly sitting up, still holding her face. Pamela didn’t respond until he repeated himself, louder this time. “Ivy.”

She paused, chest heaving, shirt scrunched up around her armpits due to her struggling. “What.” She hissed, eyes tearing away from Jack, who hadn’t moved at all, down to where Harley sat, tears streaming down her face as she stared at the floor. Pamela’s expression immediately softened, body relaxing in Bruce’s grip.

Jonathan helped Harley up, arm around her waist as he escorted her past Bruce, towards the door. Bruce was hesitant to let go of Pamela, but she made a movement as if to go toward Harley, away from Jack, and so he dropped his arms, but remained on guard.

Pamela immediately moved to her other side, twining her arm around her waist as Harley put her arm around Pamela’s shoulders.

“We should go.” Pamela said quietly, addressing Jonathan over Harley’s head. “Find her aunt. Get some ice, or something.”

“I’m fine.” Harley sniffed. “Really. I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” Jack suddenly pipped up. “Listen to the blonde. I’m sure she knows what she’s talking about. I mean, she’s been through much, much worse, hasn’t she?” Bruce turned in disbelief, staring at Jack who was, surprisingly, not looking in Harley’s direction, but staring straight back at him. “That one was practically a love tap compared to the shit I used to put her through.”

Bruce heard the door slam behind the others, registering on some subconscious level that they hadn’t stayed to listen to Jack’s taunt, but left before he’d even really spoken. On the same level, he registered that they were now alone, as he hadn’t really moved at all since he’d first entered the room, halfway between Jack and the door, which wasn’t saying much given how cramped the space was. Big enough for five or six people to cram around a table, maybe, but small enough that they’d feel intimately close, even with just two of them. 

On another level, he realized that he was angry. He could feel his heartbeat pick up, blood rushing through his body and pounding in his ears, making his skin itch and pulse where it had been rubbed raw and split open.

It hurt to stand still. To breathe. He hadn’t thought about his injuries in a while, too distracted by the chaos that his day had become, but it came rushing back all at once, making his teeth clamp down in reaction to the pain.

It hurt to clench his hands into fists. It hurt to raise his arm and draw it back. It hurt to lunge forward. It hurt when his knuckles connected with Jack’s face.

It hurt him. But not as badly as he hurt Jack.

His head snapped back, body following in a strangely delayed arc, ankles twisting, knees buckling, arms stuck out to break his fall as he collapsed to the floor.

This time, it didn’t happen too fast. 

This time, Bruce saw every last detail. Every last second. The look on Jack’s face, a mixture of surprise, and pain, and something else he didn’t recognize. The crunching pop his fist had made, somehow echoing through the space between them. The drip of blood that leaked down Jack’s face, trailing over his lips before plopping onto his clothes and staining the grey an ugly, rusty brown.

The door had just shut a second ago. No more than a heartbeat after Jack’s comment, and a heartbeat after that, Bruce had hit him. One more heartbeat, and the boy was on the floor.

Another.

Bruce was leaning down.

_Th-Thunk_

His hands grasped the front of Jack’s shirt, curling into the fabric and stretching it tight.

Another.

He was pulling Jack up, to his feet, and then off them.

_Th-Thunk_

His heart made the same dull noise that Jack’s body made when he slammed it against the wall.

Another.

It was picking up, faster, less time between heartbeats to think, to breath, to contemplate what he was doing, or why.

_Th-Thunk_

Jack’s lips split open, a grunt of pain escaping him even as he smiled, teeth stained as red as his lips, blood slipping out of his mouth and nose, down his face and neck and chest, leaking onto Bruce’s hands, the slippery warmth doing nothing to calm him down.

Another.

This close, Bruce could make out the band of black around his toxic-waste-green eyes. The flecks of golden brown. Right now, they seemed even brighter than his hair.

_Th-Thunk_

Jack was still smiling. Bruce could feel his own face twist into a snarl. The green haired boy began to laugh, the sound bubbling in his stomach and threatening to spill from his throat.

Another

Bruce wanted to shut him up, see him stop smiling, stop laughing, stop treating everything like a joke. He wanted Jack to take things seriously, take _him_ seriously instead of brushing him off, like everything he did was pointless.

_Th-Thunk_

He wanted the boy to know what being helpless felt like, a feeling Bruce was all too familiar with. Pointless, helpless, aimless, nothing. It had taken hold of him long ago, and for the first time, he wanted someone else to suffer like he had.

Another.

Bruce leaned in, swallowing the first peal of laughter just as it burst from Jack’s lips.

  

Despite everything, it wasn’t harsh. Their mouths slotted together, heads turning and tilting in unison so they fit like a key sliding into a newly made lock.

 

Something yawned inside of Bruce, a low noise like the wind howling through an empty chasm. He knew Jack could hear it too.

 

He tasted like blood, and mint, and coffee. This close, he smelled like bleach and antiseptic. Bruce didn’t know how he could smell him when he couldn’t even breathe.

 

Teeth grazed his lip, splitting the skin there as easily as a knife slips through strawberries. Now they were tasting each other.

  

Jack moaned.

 

Bruce pressed against him tighter.

  

He could feel Jack’s heartbeat stuttering through his ribs. Idly, he realized he couldn’t hear his own anymore. Or feel it.

 

Jack’s body arched against him. The image of a man being electrocuted flashed through Bruce’s mind. He could see no difference. 

Bruce pulled away all at once, breaking the kiss and dropping his hands so Jack fell to the floor. He stumbled, catching himself, but barely.

One hand propped against the wall, Jack wiped his mouth, looking at the blood on his hand, breathing heavy, still smiling.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Brucie.” He rasped.

Bruce stared at him. Jack stared at his hand.

Wordlessly, he turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE leave comments. They Feed My Soul.   
> Kudos are snacks for the soul as well.


	14. God Forgive My Tasteless Tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I should climb down off my rugged cross and lay with him.
> 
> But you know by now it's half past late, and I only came here for escape, and you, you're just my next mistake, like me to you.

Bruce was silent during the drive back to school. Harley had an icepack pressed to her face and her head in Pamela's lap while her feet were in Jonathan's, who occasionally rubbed her leg comfortingly. Edward sat up front and gave quiet instructions but other than that, no one spoke.

That was, until Bruce couldn't stand it anymore.

"He hit you when you were dating?" He asked sharply, glancing in the rearview mirror just in time to see Harley flinch and Pamela shoot him a glare.

"Yeah." Harley sniffed. "It wasn't his fault though."

"Wasn't his *fault*?!" Bruce gritted out through clenched teeth. "Then whose fault was it?!"

"Jack's emotionally disturbed." Jonathan said quietly. "And he's a piece of shit for abusing Harley, but we thought that was in his past. We were trying to move past it, for Harley's sake."

"You still spent time with him! You were his friend, and you knew he'd done that?!"

"None of us are without sin, Wayne." Edward cut him off sharply. "We've all done things we regret."

Bruce fell silent as he thought about this.

"Did he hit you when you dated him?" He asked Jonathan pointedly, and was met with a sigh as the other boy rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses tiredly.

"In a sense, yes."

"What do you mean, in a sense?" Bruce gripped the steering wheel tightly and pressed the gas a bit harder.

"Jack and I didn't really date. We had a fling." Jonathan replied flatly. "The fling involved... venting. On both our parts." He sighed again, as if it pained him to even remember. "I gave as good as I got. It was much more balanced than Harley and him. And much more toxic." He chuckled dryly. "I had to end it the night he goaded me into such a rage that he ended up needing stitches. Jack was always good at getting under people's skin. Too good, really. It gets him into trouble."

A cold feeling seeped into Bruce's stomach as he recalled his own actions earlier today. Had that been what Jack was trying to do? Get under his skin? But why?!

"So... you forgave him? For everything?" He asked Harley, voice softer. "You all did?"

"Kinda." Harley sniffed. "I know that he... that what he did was wrong. Y'know? Took me a while but I know now. And I know that he, uh... he's had the same done to him. But worse. So he, uh... he took it out on me. And that's... that's where he went wrong but... if all you see is violence you're gonna be a violent guy, yeah?"

Bruce thought this over, mind drifting back to the newly learned bits of knowledge about Jack's father and the boy's scraped knuckles and lye burn. His throat tightened with the knowledge that he might have left his own permanent mark on the boy today.

It wasn't entirely guilt that he was feeling, and that made it all worse.

 


	15. Kiss, Kiss. Bang, Bang.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan and Bruce uhhhhh bond?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE (after like 84 years I'm SORRY) but hit that mf review button cause it motivates my ass to write faster!!!

“There’s no way in hell we’re going back to school, right?” Pamela asked, meeting Bruce’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I can take you all home.” Bruce nodded. “Wherever that might be.” There was a pause before he glanced at Edward. “Where to first?”

“My house.” Edward said flatly. “It’s the closest, and if I’m late the birthers are going to get suspicious.”

“Birthers?”

“Eddie here doesn’t like calling his parents ‘parents’.” Jonathan explained. 

“That’s because they’re not my parents.” He grumbled. “They’re just the people who birthed me and happen to have custody until I’m old enough to get the fuck out.”

Bruce’s eyebrows were fully raised, but when he spared a glance to the others, the only thing he saw was agreement. 

“Do… any of you have… uh… normal…” He stopped himself. “I didn’t mean normal, I just meant-”

“Non-abusive parents?” Jonathan supplied dryly. “No. Eddie’s father is a drunk and his mother is a wet napkin, Harley’s father is in prison and her mother is so out of it she might as well be out of the picture, my father uses me as a test subject and my mother lets him, and as long as she’s not dead, Ivy’s parents don’t care about her.”

“Well don’t hold anything back there, Johnny.” Pamela said sarcastically. “God forbid Wayne misses out on all the juicy details.”

“He might as well know.” Jonathan muttered. “See what kind of a shitstorm he’s gotten himself into.”

“What about Harvey?” Bruce asked, unable to imagine Dent’s life as being anything but perfect. Pamela laughed. 

“His parents are friends with mine. They all go to the same country club.” She rolled her eyes. “But while mine barely know I exist, his are so far up his ass he can’t sneeze without them telling him to sit up straighter.”

“And the uh… what’s his name... Bane? What about-”

“No one knows.” Edward cut him off. “No one wants to ask.” 

Bruce nodded. He couldn’t imagine even trying to strike up a conversation with the gigantic student, much less one that pried into his personal life. 

“So where to, Edward?” 

“Head towards the school. I’ll tell you where to turn.”

“He lives near Jack.” Harley spoke up, startling Bruce a bit. 

“Why the hell would he know where Jack lives?” Edward shot back.

“He’s been to his house.” Harley sniffed, voice not fully back to it’s normal buoyant tone. “Jack told me.” 

“Why would he tell you that?” Bruce asked at the same time Jonathan said “It’s not like he’s been  _ inside _ .” They exchanged looks, both more than a little peeved at their own outburst. 

“I drove him home.” Bruce said flatly. “That’s all. But I know where it is. How close are you?”

“A few blocks down. Harley is across the street.” 

“Harley’s coming home with me.” Pamela stated firmly. Bruce nodded, seeing no reason to protest. His skull felt like it was going to split in two, and all the aches and pains from his workout, and subsequent accident, had come back with a vengeance.

“I live the farthest. You can drop me off last.” Jonathan said quietly. Bruce nodded.

“I think it’s gonna bruise.” Pamela swore under her breath as she examined Harley’s cheek.

“It’s ok, Pammy. I’m real good at makeup.” Harley patted Pamela’s leg as the other girl huffed. 

“You should’ve left him the first time he did it.” Pamela snarled. “You should’ve  _ kicked his ass _ the first time he did it…. Not stayed until others started noticing something was wrong.”

“Wait.” Bruce’s brain suddenly dredged up the conversation he’d had with Jack in the car. “Jack told me you broke up because he wasn’t uh… the right gender.”

“What?” Harley frowned. 

“Un-fucking-believable.” Pamela tossed her hands up. “He’s playing the fuckin martyr once again.”

“You broke up with him.” Bruce said slowly.

“Yeah. Cause…” Harley sighed. “He’d been hittin me and I was finally… finally fed up.” 

“Harley doesn’t give a shit about gender when it comes to dating.” Pamela snapped. “The fact that Jack’s saying he…. Ugh.” She gave up on trying to articulate her anger and simply crossed her arms, glaring out the window silently. 

“Ok.” Bruce was sorry he’d brought it up. He didn’t know  _ what _ to believe anymore. 

The rest of the ride was a silent one. He dropped Edward off in front of a townhouse that had seen better days.

“Don’t wait around. You’re attracting too much attention.” Edward blurted as he scrambled to get out of the car and up the steps as fast as possible.

Bruce broke the speed limit and ran a few stop signs to get Pamela and Harley across town as fast as possible. The difference between Jack’s neighborhood and Pamela’s was almost laughable. She lived in a gated community, having to present a personalized ID to the guard who then waived them in. Bruce drove past mansions that almost, but not quite, rivaled his own house in size. No one in Gotham was as rich as the Wayne’s were, but a few families came close, and Pamela’s was apparently one of them. 

Bruce waited until he saw the door opened by a woman in a neatly pressed black uniform, Pamela’s arm wrapped tightly around Harley’s waist as she ushered her inside. The door shut and he began the slow drive back to the gate, suddenly violently aware of the fact that he was alone with Jonathan.

“You can ask.” Bruce jumped at the broken silence, glancing confusedly at the other boy.

“Ask what?”

“How me and Jack broke up.” Jonathan replied.

“You told me.” Bruce said slowly. “The doctor’s at Arkham messed with his head… right?”

Jonathan nodded. “That’s the first thing I told you.”

“That’s the only thing you told-” Bruce stopped mid-sentence as he recalled what Jonathan had said when they first left Arkham. “You mentioned he… goaded you. You hurt him. He needed stitches. But… if he broke up with you while still in Arkham…” They passed back through the gate, and Bruce began to accelerate more and more, driving far too fast on a far too narrow road. Jonathan didn’t seem particularly bothered by this fact. He watched Bruce with a calm detachment, but he watched him too closely to be fully apathetic. Every so often his eyes would dart to the speedometer, but he never once looked worried.

“All of you just… lie.” Bruce’s patience had run out entirely. He wasn’t even curious anymore, just exhausted and sick of being jerked around like a fish on a hook.

“Everyone lies.” Jonathan shrugged.

“Not constantly.” Bruce shook his head, pressing his foot down on the gas even further. 

“You think we lie constantly?” Jonathan asked, arching an eyebrow in amusement.

“You’re not doing much to prove me wrong.” He snapped.

“There’s more than one way to tell the truth.”

“Then tell it the right way.”

Jonathan laughed. Bruce had an urge to yank the wheel to the right and crash into a lamppost just to spite him.

“I knew Jack was breaking up with me because the doctor’s had forced him to. So I ignored it. I didn’t consider it real. When he was released, I told him as much. I didn’t expect anything to change. Nothing had, in my mind. Jack disagreed.” Jonathan paused, eyes glancing once more at the speedometer which was nearing 100. 

“He picked fights, just like before, but… these were worse. More vicious. Not just pushing my buttons but picking at my skin, trying to get underneath it. Before… he had always  _ started _ things. Thrown the first punch… though he rarely threw actual punches. Not his style. But now… he would just wear me down until I snapped first instead. And when I did snap… he didn’t fight back.” 

Bruce was feeling nauseous, and he wasn’t sure if it was the speed at which he was driving, or the story Jonathan was telling. Maybe both. Maybe something else entirely. For now, all he could do was keep his foot down and listen. 

“Was it a fling?” He heard himself ask.

“No.” Jonathan answered after a brief pause. “Maybe to him. Not to me. I took things… seriously. Which was why it was all the worse that it escalated the way it did.”

“So he was asking for it.” Bruce said sharply. 

“In a sense.” Jonathan nodded, not letting the barbs in the other’s words stick. “Jack’s self-destructive. Arkham had ‘cured’ him of one manner of self-harm so he moved onto another.”

“You.”

“Me.” 

There was silence. Jonathan broke it first.

“Turn here.” 

Bruce turned without thinking, taking a sharp left off the main road and onto a flat dirt one, cringing at the noise his car made as the dust and rocks pinged off the underbelly.

“You might want to slow down a bit.” Jonathan advised, more than a trace of laughter in his voice.

Bruce eased off the gas, albeit reluctantly. 

“Where’s your house?”

“A good deal farther.” Jonathan paused. “Can your car handle it?”

“Yes.” Bruce snapped. “It’s a fucking Lamborghini.”

Jonathan laughed. “I know. And this is a dirt road. I don’t think anything besides a truck has been down here since automobiles were invented.” He gave Bruce a searching look, mostly amusement with a little concern mixed in. “There was no need to bite my head off.”

Bruce sighed, purposefully avoiding Jonathan’s gaze. “Sorry.”

“You’ve been doing a lot of that recently.” Jonathan noted.

“You’ve barely known me for three days.” Bruce replied sullenly. “Don’t try your psycho-babble shit on me.”

“It’s called psychoanalysis and it’s not at all what I’m doing.” Jonathan snorted. “It doesn’t take a licensed therapist to notice you’ve been on edge and lashing out.” There was tense silence, broken only by the thudding sound of tires on rocks and mud. “Want to talk about it?”

Bruce hit the brakes, bringing the car to a jerking halt. Jonathan said nothing, despite having to grab ahold of the dashboard to stop himself from jolting forward. 

Throwing the car into park, Bruce shifted in his seat, turning to face Jonathan angrily. 

“Alright, what is your  _ problem _ with me? It is because Jack likes me or something?” 

“I was about to ask you the same thing.” Jonathan replied coolly. 

“What?” Bruce forced out a laugh so harsh that it actually hurt his throat. “You and Jack  _ broke up _ . You were  _ abusive _ .” He forced himself not to think about the fact that Jack had been just as bad, if not worse, with Harley.

“Yet we remain friends.” Jonathan countered. “So there must be something about me he continues to take interest in.”

“And what exactly would that be.” Bruce’s voice dropped into a growl, his hand moving to lean on the space between them, supporting his weight for the sole purpose of getting in Jonathan’s face. 

“Would you like to find out?” Jonathan didn’t lean back or flinch away like Bruce thought he would, but instead leaned into the dwindling space between them. This simple action knocked Bruce off guard long enough that Jonathan was able to close the short gap and press their mouthes together. 

It took a moment for Bruce’s brain to come back online, but when it did, he reacted violently, biting down until he tasted blood as his hands came up and shoved Jonathan back so hard the boy’s head cracked into the window.

The two boys regarded each other warily for a moment. Bruce’s expression was one of confusion and anger. Jonathan merely looked contemplative.

“That answers that question.” 

“What  _ fucking _ question could you  _ possibly _ have that was answered by fucking  **_assaulting me?!?_ ** ” 

“Don’t be dramatic.” Jonathan’s glasses had been knocked askew during the brief scuffle, and he chose this moment to take them off an examine them. They were slightly cracked, and the earpiece was bent from where he’d hit the window. “I was checking Harley’s hypothesis.”

“Harley’s…  _ what _ ?” If he hadn’t had a headache before, he certainly did now.

“That you were a breeder.” Jonathan tucked his glasses into his pocket and pulled out an honest-to-god handkerchief, wiping the blood off his mouth from where he’d been bitten.

“A breeder.” Bruce repeated flatly, dimly recalling the insult Harley had spat at him back in  “Am I supposed to know what that means?” He was too tired to be truly curious, or even angry anymore. The rage was seeping out of him with every passing moment, replaced with nothing but exhaustion and the need to be alone.

“You’re a clever boy. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Jonathan smirked.

“Right.” Bruce turned back to the dashboard, hands gripping the wheel. “Get out.” 

Jonathan obeyed silently, stepping out of the car and into the dark countryside. Bruce watched his retreating form in the glow of the headlights until the light was too faint to see him by. In the resulting silence of Jonathan’s departure, he could make out the screeching of birds. 

Suddenly possessed by the overwhelming need to be anywhere but there, Bruce shifted the car into drive and fishtailed out of the drive. His speed made the Lambo groan and screech in protest, not used to the strain of driving off-road, but Bruce ignored the ominous noises in his effort to put distance between him and the  _ other _ . 

He preferred it over cawing anyways. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imsosorryimSOsorryimsoSORRY


End file.
